— My Father's Sin / Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge), 1825-1900

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Title: Erema
       My Father's Sin

Author: R. D. Blackmore

Release Date: June 6, 2006 [EBook #7112]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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Produced by Don Lainson





EREMA; OR, MY FATHER'S SIN


By R. D. Blackmore



1877



CHAPTER I

A LOST LANDMARK


"The sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me."


These are the words that have followed me always. This is the curse
which has fallen on my life.

If I had not known my father, if I had not loved him, if I had not
closed his eyes in desert silence deeper than the silence of the grave,
even if I could have buried and bewailed him duly, the common business
of this world and the universal carelessness might have led me down the
general track that leads to nothing.

Until my father fell and died I never dreamed that he could die. I knew
that his mind was quite made up to see me safe in my new home, and then
himself to start again for still remoter solitudes. And when his mind
was thus made up, who had ever known him fail of it?

If ever a resolute man there was, that very man was my father. And
he showed it now, in this the last and fatal act of his fatal life.
"Captain, here I leave you all," he shouted to the leader of our wagon
train, at a place where a dark, narrow gorge departed from the moilsome
mountain track. "My reasons are my own; let no man trouble himself
about them. All my baggage I leave with you. I have paid my share of
the venture, and shall claim it at Sacramento. My little girl and I will
take this short-cut through the mountains."

"General!" answered the leader of our train, standing up on his board in
amazement. "Forgive and forget, Sir; forgive and forget. What is a hot
word spoken hotly? If not for your own sake, at least come back for the
sake of your young daughter."

"A fair haven to you!" replied my father. He offered me his hand, and
we were out of sight of all that wearisome, drearisome, uncompanionable
company with whom, for eight long weeks at least, we had been dragging
our rough way. I had known in a moment that it must be so, for my father
never argued. Argument, to his mind, was a very nice amusement for the
weak. My spirits rose as he swung his bear-skin bag upon his shoulder,
and the last sound of the laboring caravan groaned in the distance, and
the fresh air and the freedom of the mountains moved around us. It was
the 29th of May--Oak-apple Day in England--and to my silly youth this
vast extent of snowy mountains was a nice place for a cool excursion.

Moreover, from day to day I had been in most wretched anxiety, so long
as we remained with people who could not allow for us. My father, by
his calm reserve and dignity and largeness, had always, among European
people, kept himself secluded; but now in this rough life, so pent in
trackless tracts, and pressed together by perpetual peril, every body's
manners had been growing free and easy. Every man had been compelled to
tell, as truly as he could, the story of his life thus far, to amuse
his fellow-creatures--every man, I mean, of course, except my own poor
father. Some told their stories every evening, until we were quite
tired--although they were never the same twice over; but my father could
never be coaxed to say a syllable more than, "I was born, and I shall
die."

This made him very unpopular with the men, though all the women admired
it; and if any rough fellow could have seen a sign of fear, the speaker
would have been insulted. But his manner and the power of his look were
such that, even after ardent spirits, no man saw fit to be rude to him.
Nevertheless, there had always been the risk of some sad outrage.

"Erema," my father said to me, when the dust from the rear of the
caravan was lost behind a cloud of rocks, and we two stood in the
wilderness alone--"do you know, my own Erema, why I bring you from
them?"

"Father dear, how should I know? You have done it, and it must be
right."

"It is not for their paltry insults. Child, you know what I think all
that. It is for you, my only child, that I am doing what now I do."

I looked up into his large, sad eyes without a word, in such a way that
he lifted me up in his arms and kissed me, as if I were a little child
instead of a maiden just fifteen. This he had never done before, and
it made me a little frightened. He saw it, and spoke on the spur of the
thought, though still with one arm round me.

"Perhaps you will live to be thankful, my dear, that you had a stern,
cold father. So will you meet the world all the better; and, little one,
you have a rough world to meet."

For a moment I was quite at a loss to account for my father's manner;
but now, in looking back, it is so easy to see into things. At the time
I must have been surprised, and full of puzzled eagerness.

Not half so well can I recall the weakness, anguish, and exhaustion of
body and spirit afterward. It may have been three days of wandering, or
it may have been a week, or even more than that, for all that I can say
for certain. Whether the time were long or short, it seemed as if it
would never end. My father believed that he knew the way to the house
of an old settler, at the western foot of the mountains, who had treated
him kindly some years before, and with whom he meant to leave me until
he had made arrangements elsewhere. If we had only gone straightway
thither, night-fall would have found us safe beneath that hospitable
roof.

My father was vexed, as I well remember, at coming, as he thought, in
sight of some great landmark, and finding not a trace of it. Although
his will was so very strong, his temper was good about little things,
and he never began to abuse all the world because he had made a mistake
himself.

"Erema," he said, "at this corner where we stand there ought to be a
very large pine-tree in sight, or rather a great redwood-tree, at least
twice as high as any tree that grows in Europe, or Africa even. From the
plains it can be seen for a hundred miles or more. It stands higher up
the mountainside than any other tree of even half its size, and that
makes it so conspicuous. My eyes must be failing me, from all this
glare; but it must be in sight. Can you see it now?"

"I see no tree of any kind whatever, but scrubby bushes and yellow
tufts; and oh, father, I am so thirsty!"

"Naturally. But now look again. It stands on a ridge, the last ridge
that bars the view of all the lowland. It is a very straight tree, and
regular, like a mighty column, except that on the northern side the wind
from the mountains has torn a gap in it. Are you sure that you can not
see it--a long way off, but conspicuous?"

"Father, I am sure that I can not see any tree half as large as a
broomstick. Far or near, I see no tree."

"Then my eyes are better than my memory. We must cast back for a mile or
two; but it can not make much difference."

"Through the dust and the sand?" I began to say; but a glance from him
stopped my murmuring. And the next thing I can call to mind must have
happened a long time afterward.

Beyond all doubt, in this desolation, my father gave his life for mine.
I did not know it at the time, nor had the faintest dream of it, being
so young and weary-worn, and obeying him by instinct. It is a fearful
thing to think of--now that I can think of it--but to save my own little
worthless life I must have drained every drop of water from his flat
half-gallon jar. The water was hot and the cork-hole sandy, and I
grumbled even while drinking it; and what must my father (who was dying
all the while for a drop, but never took one)--what must he have thought
of me?

But he never said a word, so far as I remember; and that makes it all
the worse for me. We had strayed away into a dry, volcanic district of
the mountains, where all the snow-rivers run out quite early; and of
natural springs there was none forth-coming. All we had to guide us was
a little traveler's compass (whose needle stuck fast on the pivot with
sand) and the glaring sun, when he came to sight behind the hot, dry,
driving clouds. The clouds were very low, and flying almost in our
faces, like vultures sweeping down on us. To me they seemed to shriek
over our heads at the others rushing after them. But my father said that
they could make no sound, and I never contradicted him.



CHAPTER II

A PACIFIC SUNSET


At last we came to a place from which the great spread of the earth
was visible. For a time--I can not tell how long--we had wholly lost
ourselves, going up and down, and turning corners, without getting
further. But my father said that we must come right, if we made up our
minds to go long enough. We had been in among all shapes, and want of
shapes, of dreariness, through and in and out of every thrup and thrum
of weariness, scarcely hoping ever more to find our way out and discover
memory of men for us, when all of a sudden we saw a grand sight. The
day had been dreadfully hot and baffling, with sudden swirls of red dust
arising, and driving the great drought into us. To walk had been worse
than to drag one's way through a stubbly bed of sting-nettles. But now
the quick sting of the sun was gone, and his power descending in the
balance toward the flat places of the land and sea. And suddenly we
looked forth upon an immeasurable spread of these.

We stood at the gate of the sandy range, which here, like a vast brown
patch, disfigures the beauty of the sierra. On either side, in purple
distance, sprang sky-piercing obelisks and vapor-mantled glaciers,
spangled with bright snow, and shodden with eternal forest. Before us
lay the broad, luxuriant plains of California, checkered with more tints
than any other piece of earth can show, sleeping in alluvial ease,
and veined with soft blue waters. And through a gap in the brown coast
range, at twenty leagues of distance, a light (so faint as to seem a
shadow) hovered above the Pacific.

But none of all this grandeur touched our hearts except the water gleam.
Parched with thirst, I caught my father's arm and tried to urge him
on toward the blue enchantment of ecstatic living water. But, to my
surprise, he staggered back, and his face grew as white as the distant
snow. I managed to get him to a sandy ledge, with the help of his own
endeavors, and there let him rest and try to speak, while my frightened
heart throbbed over his.

"My little child," he said at last, as if we were fallen back ten years,
"put your hand where I can feel it."

My hand all the while had been in his, and to let him know where it was,
it moved. But cold fear stopped my talking.

"My child, I have not been kind to you," my father slowly spoke again,
"but it has not been from want of love. Some day you will see all this,
and some day you will pardon me."

He laid one heavy arm around me, and forgetting thirst and pain, with
the last intensity of eyesight watched the sun departing. To me, I know
not how, great awe was every where, and sadness. The conical point of
the furious sun, which like a barb had pierced us, was broadening into
a hazy disk, inefficient, but benevolent. Underneath him depth of night
was waiting to come upward (after letting him fall through) and stain
his track with redness. Already the arms of darkness grew in readiness
to receive him: his upper arc was pure and keen, but the lower was
flaked with atmosphere; a glow of hazy light soon would follow, and one
bright glimmer (addressed more to the sky than to the earth), and after
that a broad, soft gleam; and after that how many a man should never see
the sun again, and among them would be my father.

He, for the moment, resting there, with heavy light upon him, and the
dark jaws of the mountain desert yawning wide behind him, and all the
beautiful expanse of liberal earth before him--even so he seemed to me,
of all the things in sight, the one that first would draw attention.
His face was full of quiet grandeur and impressive calm, and the sad
tranquillity which comes to those who know what human life is through
continual human death. Although, in the matter of bodily strength, he
was little past the prime of life, his long and abundant hair was white,
and his broad and upright forehead marked with the meshes of the net
of care. But drought and famine and long fatigue had failed even now to
change or weaken the fine expression of his large, sad eyes. Those eyes
alone would have made the face remarkable among ten thousand, so deep
with settled gloom they were, and dark with fatal sorrow. Such eyes
might fitly have told the grief of Adrastus, son of Gordias, who, having
slain his own brother unwitting, unwitting slew the only son of his
generous host and savior.

The pale globe of the sun hung trembling in the haze himself had made.
My father rose to see the last, and reared his tall form upright
against the deepening background. He gazed as if the course of life lay
vanishing below him, while level land and waters drew the breadth of
shadow over them. Then the last gleam flowed and fled upon the face of
ocean, and my father put his dry lips to my forehead, saying nothing.

His lips might well be dry, for he had not swallowed water for three
days; but it frightened me to feel how cold they were, and even
tremulous. "Let us run, let us run, my dear father!" I cried. "Delicious
water! The dark falls quickly; but we can get there before dark. It is
all down hill. Oh, do let us run at once!"

"Erema," he answered, with a quiet smile, "there is no cause now for
hurrying, except that I must hurry to show you what you have to do, my
child. For once, at the end of my life, I am lucky. We have escaped from
that starving desert at a spot--at a spot where we can see--"

For a little while he could say no more, but sank upon the stony seat,
and the hand with which he tried to point some distant landmark fell
away. His face, which had been so pale before, became of a deadly
whiteness, and he breathed with gasps of agony. I knelt before him and
took his hands, and tried to rub the palms, and did whatever I could
think of.

"Oh, father, father, you have starved yourself, and given every thing
to me! What a brute I was to let you do it! But I did not know; I never
knew! Please God to take me also!"

He could not manage to answer this, even if he understood it; but he
firmly lifted his arm again, and tried to make me follow it.

"What does it matter? Oh, never mind, never mind such, a wretch as I am!
Father, only try to tell me what I ought to do for you."

"My child! my child!" were his only words; and he kept on saying, "My
child! my child!" as if he liked the sound of it.

At what time of the night my father died I knew not then or afterward.
It may have been before the moon came over the snowy mountains, or it
may not have been till the worn-out stars in vain repelled the daybreak.
All I know is that I ever strove to keep more near to him through the
night, to cherish his failing warmth, and quicken the slow, laborious,
harassed breath. From time to time he tried to pray to God for me and
for himself; but every time his mind began to wander and to slip away,
as if through want of practice. For the chills of many wretched years
had deadened and benumbed his faith. He knew me, now and then, betwixt
the conflict and the stupor; for more than once he muttered feebly, and
as if from out a dream,

"Time for Erema to go on her way. Go on your way, and save your life;
save your life, Erema."

There was no way for me to go, except on my knees before him. I took
his hands, and made them lissome with a soft, light rubbing. I whispered
into his ear my name, that he might speak once more to me; and when he
could not speak, I tried to say what he would say to me.

At last, with a blow that stunned all words, it smote my stupid,
wandering mind that all I had to speak and smile to, all I cared to
please and serve, the only one left to admire and love, lay here in my
weak arms quite dead. And in the anguish of my sobbing, little things
came home to me, a thousand little things that showed how quietly he
had prepared for this, and provided for me only. Cold despair and
self-reproach and strong rebellion dazed me, until I lay at my father's
side, and slept with his dead hand in mine. There in the desert of
desolation pious awe embraced me, and small phantasms of individual fear
could not come nigh me.

By-and-by long shadows of morning crept toward me dismally, and the
pallid light of the hills was stretched in weary streaks away from me.
How I arose, or what I did, or what I thought, is nothing now. Such
times are not for talking of. How many hearts of anguish lie forlorn,
with none to comfort them, with all the joy of life died out, and all
the fear of having yet to live, in front arising!

Young and weak, and wrong of sex for doing any valiance, long I lay by
my father's body, wringing out my wretchedness. Thirst and famine now
had flown into the opposite extreme; I seemed to loathe the thought
of water, and the smell of food would have made me sick. I opened my
father's knapsack, and a pang of new misery seized me. There lay nearly
all his rations, which he had made pretense to eat as he gave me mine
from time to time. He had starved himself; since he failed of his mark,
and learned our risk of famishing, all his own food he had kept for me,
as well as his store of water. And I had done nothing but grumble and
groan, even while consuming every thing. Compared with me, the hovering
vultures might be considered angels.

When I found all this, I was a great deal too worn out to cry or sob.
Simply to break down may be the purest mercy that can fall on truly
hopeless misery. Screams of ravenous maws and flaps of fetid wings came
close to me, and, fainting into the arms of death, I tried to save my
father's body by throwing my own over it.



CHAPTER III

A STURDY COLONIST


For the contrast betwixt that dreadful scene and the one on which my
dim eyes slowly opened, three days afterward, first I thank the Lord in
heaven, whose gracious care was over me, and after Him some very simple
members of humanity.

A bronze-colored woman, with soft, sad eyes, was looking at me
steadfastly. She had seen that, under tender care, I was just beginning
to revive, and being acquainted with many troubles, she had learned to
succor all of them. This I knew not then, but felt that kindness was
around me.

"Arauna, arauna, my shild," she said, in a strange but sweet and
soothing voice, "you are with the good man in the safe, good house. Let
old Suan give you the good food, my shild."

"Where is my father? Oh, show me my father?" I whispered faintly, as she
raised me in the bed and held a large spoon to my lips.

"You shall--you shall; it is too very much Inglese; me tell you when
have long Sunday time to think. My shild, take the good food from poor
old Suan."

She looked at me with such beseeching eyes that, even if food had been
loathsome to me, I could not have resisted her; whereas I was now in
the quick-reviving agony of starvation. The Indian woman fed me with
far greater care than I was worth, and hushed me, with some soothing
process, into another abyss of sleep.

More than a week passed by me thus, in the struggle between life and
death, before I was able to get clear knowledge of any body or any
thing. No one, in my wakeful hours, came into my little bedroom except
this careful Indian nurse, who hushed me off to sleep whenever I wanted
to ask questions. Suan Isco, as she was called, possessed a more than
mesmeric power of soothing a weary frame to rest; and this was seconded,
where I lay, by the soft, incessant cadence and abundant roar of water.
Thus every day I recovered strength and natural impatience.

"The master is coming to see you, shild," Suan said to me one day, when
I had sat up and done my hair, and longed to be down by the water-fall;
"if, if--too much Inglese--old Suan say no more can now."

"If I am ready and able and willing! Oh, Suan, run and tell him not to
lose one moment."

"No sure; Suan no sure at all," she answered, looking at me calmly, as
if there were centuries yet to spare. "Suan no hurry; shild no hurry;
master no hurry: come last of all."

"I tell you, Suan, I want to see him. And I am not accustomed to be
kept waiting. My dear father insisted always--But oh, Suan, Suan, he is
dead--I am almost sure of it."

"Him old man quite dead enough, and big hole dug in the land for him.
Very good; more good than could be. Suan no more Inglese."

Well as I had known it long, a catching of the breath and hollow,
helpless pain came through me, to meet in dry words thus the dread which
might have been but a hovering dream. I turned my face to the wall, and
begged her not to send the master in.

But presently a large, firm hand was laid on my shoulder softly, and
turning sharply round, I beheld an elderly man looking down at me. His
face was plain and square and solid, with short white curls on a
rugged forehead, and fresh red cheeks, and a triple chin--fit base for
remarkably massive jaws. His frame was in keeping with his face, being
very large and powerful, though not of my father's commanding height.
His dress and appearance were those of a working--and a really
hard-working--man, sober, steadfast, and self-respecting; but what
engaged my attention most was the frank yet shrewd gaze of deep-set
eyes. I speak of things as I observed them later, for I could not pay
much heed just then.

"'Tis a poor little missy," he said, with a gentle tone. "What things
she hath been through! Will you take an old man's hand, my dear? Your
father hath often taken it, though different from his rank of life.
Sampson Gundry is my name, missy. Have you ever heard your father tell
of it?"

"Many and many a time," I said, as I placed my hot little hand in his.
"He never found more than one man true on earth, and it was you, Sir."

"Come, now," he replied, with his eyes for a moment sparkling at my
warmth of words; "you must not have that in your young head, missy. It
leads to a miserable life. Your father hath always been unlucky--the
most unlucky that ever I did know. And luck cometh out in nothing
clearer than in the kind of folk we meet. But the Lord in heaven
ordereth all. I speak like a poor heathen."

"Oh, never mind that!" I cried: "only tell me, were you in time to
save--to save--" I could not bear to say what I wanted.

"In plenty of time, my dear; thanks to you. You must have fought when
you could not fight: the real stuff, I call it. Your poor father lies
where none can harm him. Come, missy, missy, you must not take on so. It
is the best thing that could befall a man so bound up with calamity. It
is what he hath prayed for for many a year--if only it were not for you.
And now you are safe, and for sure he knows it, if the angels heed their
business."

With these words he withdrew, and kindly sent Suan back to me, knowing
that her soothing ways would help me more than argument. To my mind
all things lay in deep confusion and abasement. Overcome with bodily
weakness and with bitter self-reproach, I even feared that to ask any
questions might show want of gratitude. But a thing of that sort could
not always last, and before very long I was quite at home with the
history of Mr. Gundry.

Solomon Gundry, of Mevagissey, in the county of Cornwall, in England,
betook himself to the United States in the last year of the last
century. He had always been a most upright man, as well as a first-rate
fisherman; and his family had made a rule--as most respectable families
at that time did--to run a nice cargo of contraband goods not more than
twice in one season. A highly querulous old lieutenant of the British
navy (who had served under Nelson and lost both, arms, yet kept "the
rheumatics" in either stump) was appointed, in an evil hour, to the
Cornish coast-guard; and he never rested until he had caught all the
best county families smuggling. Through this he lost his situation, and
had to go to the workhouse; nevertheless, such a stir had been roused
that (to satisfy public opinion) they made a large sacrifice of inferior
people, and among them this Solomon Gundry. Now the Gundries had long
been a thickset race, and had furnished some champion wrestlers; and
Solomon kept to the family stamp in the matter of obstinacy. He made a
bold mark at the foot of a bond for 150 pounds; and with no other sign
than that, his partner in their stanch herring-smack (the Good Hope,
of Mevagissey) allowed him to make sail across the Atlantic with all he
cared for.

This Cornish partner deserved to get all his money back; and so he did,
together with good interest. Solomon Gundry throve among a thrifty race
at Boston; he married a sweet New England lass, and his eldest son was
Sampson. Sampson, in the prime of life, and at its headstrong period,
sought the far West, overland, through not much less of distance, and
through even more of danger, than his English father had gone through.
His name was known on the western side of the mighty chain of mountains
before Colonel Fremont was heard of there, and before there was any
gleam of gold on the lonely sunset frontage.

Here Sampson Gundry lived by tillage of the nobly fertile soil ere
Sacramento or San Francisco had any name to speak of. And though he did
not show regard for any kind of society, he managed to have a wife and
son, and keep them free from danger. But (as it appears to me the more,
the more I think of every thing) no one must assume to be aside the
reach of Fortune because he has gathered himself so small that she
should not care to strike at him. At any rate, good or evil powers smote
Sampson Gundry heavily.

First he lost his wife, which was a "great denial" to him. She fell from
a cliff while she was pegging out the linen, and the substance of her
frame prevented her from ever getting over it. And after that he lost
his son, his only son--for all the Gundries were particular as to
quality; and the way in which he lost his son made it still more sad for
him.

A reputable and valued woman had disappeared in a hasty way from a
cattle-place down the same side of the hills. The desire of the Indians
was to enlarge her value and get it. There were very few white men as
yet within any distance to do good; but Sampson Gundry vowed that, if
the will of the Lord went with him, that woman should come back to her
family without robbing them of sixpence. To this intent he started
with a company of some twenty men--white or black or middle-colored
(according to circumstances). He was their captain, and his son Elijah
their lieutenant. Elijah had only been married for a fortnight, but was
full of spirit, and eager to fight with enemies; and he seems to have
carried this too far; for all that came back to his poor bride was a
lock of his hair and his blessing. He was buried in a bed of lava on the
western slope of Shasta, and his wife died in her confinement, and was
buried by the Blue River.

It was said at the time and long afterward that Elijah Gundry--thus
cut short--was the finest and noblest young man to be found from the
mountains to the ocean. His father, in whose arms he died, led a sad and
lonely life for years, and scarcely even cared (although of Cornish and
New England race) to seize the glorious chance of wealth which lay at
his feet beseeching him. By settlement he had possessed himself of a
large and fertile district, sloping from the mountain-foot along the
banks of the swift Blue River, a tributary of the San Joaquin. And this
was not all; for he also claimed the ownership of the upper valley, the
whole of the mountain gorge and spring head, whence that sparkling water
flows. And when that fury of gold-digging in 1849 arose, very few men
could have done what he did without even thinking twice of it.

For Sampson Gundry stood, like a bull, on the banks of his own river,
and defied the worst and most desperate men of all nations to pollute
it. He had scarcely any followers or steadfast friends to back him; but
his fame for stern courage was clear and strong, and his bodily presence
most manifest. Not a shovel was thrust nor a cradle rocked in the bed of
the Blue River.

But when a year or two had passed, and all the towns and villages, and
even hovels and way-side huts, began to clink with money, Mr. Gundry
gradually recovered a wholesome desire to have some. For now his
grandson Ephraim was growing into biped shape, and having lost his
mother when he first came into the world, was sure to need the more
natural and maternal nutriment of money.

Therefore Sampson Gundry, though he would not dig for gold, wrought
out a plan which he had long thought of. Nature helped him with all her
powers of mountain, forest, and headlong stream. He set up a saw-mill,
and built it himself; and there was no other to be found for twelve
degrees of latitude and perhaps a score of longitude.



CHAPTER IV

THE "KING OF THE MOUNTAINS."


If I think, and try to write forever with the strongest words, I can not
express to any other mind a thousandth part of the gratitude which was
and is, and ought to be forever, in my own poor mind toward those who
were so good to me. From time to time it is said (whenever any man with
power of speech or fancy gets some little grievances) that all mankind
are simply selfish, miserly, and miserable. To contradict that saying
needs experience even larger, perhaps, than that which has suggested it;
and this I can not have, and therefore only know that I have not found
men or women behave at all according to that view of them.

Whether Sampson Gundry owed any debt, either of gratitude or of loyalty,
to my father, I did not ask; and he seemed to be (like every one else)
reserved and silent as to my father's history. But he always treated me
as if I belonged to a rank of life quite different from and much above
his own. For instance, it was long before he would allow me to have my
meals at the table of the household.

But as soon as I began in earnest to recover from starvation, loss, and
loneliness, my heart was drawn to this grand old man, who had seen so
many troubles. He had been here and there in the world so much, and
dealt with so many people, that the natural frankness of his mind was
sharpened into caution. But any weak and helpless person still could get
the best of him; and his shrewdness certainly did not spring from any
form of bitterness. He was rough in his ways sometimes, and could
not bear to be contradicted when he was sure that he was right, which
generally happened to him. But above all things he had one very
great peculiarity, to my mind highly vexatious, because it seemed
so unaccountable. Sampson Gundry had a very low opinion of feminine
intellect. He never showed this contempt in any unpleasant way, and
indeed he never, perhaps, displayed it in any positive sayings. But as
I grew older and began to argue, sure I was that it was there; and it
always provoked me tenfold as much by seeming to need no assertion, but
to stand as some great axiom.

The other members of the household were his grandson Ephraim (or "Firm"
Gundry), the Indian woman Suan Isco, and a couple of helps, of race or
nation almost unknown to themselves. Suan Isco belonged to a tribe of
respectable Black Rock Indians, and had been the wife of a chief among
them, and the mother of several children. But Klamath Indians, enemies
of theirs (who carried off the lady of the cattle ranch, and afterward
shot Elijah), had Suan Isco in their possession, having murdered her
husband and children, and were using her as a mere beast of burden, when
Sampson Gundry fell on them. He, with his followers, being enraged
at the cold-blooded death of Elijah, fell on those miscreants to such
purpose that women and children alone were left to hand down their bad
propensities.

But the white men rescued and brought away the stolen wife of the
stockman, and also the widow of the Black Rock chief. She was in such
poor condition and so broken-hearted that none but the finest humanity
would have considered her worth a quarter of the trouble of her
carriage. But she proved to be worth it a thousandfold; and Sawyer
Gundry (as now he was called) knew by this time all the value of
uncultivated gratitude. And her virtues were so many that it took a
long time to find them out, for she never put them forward, not knowing
whether they were good or bad.

Until I knew these people, and the pure depth of their kindness, it was
a continual grief to me to be a burden upon them. But when I came to
understand them and their simple greatness, the only thing I was ashamed
of was my own mistrust of them. Not that I expected ever that any harm
would be done to me, only that I knew myself to have no claim on any
one.

One day, when I was fit for nothing but to dwell on trouble, Sampson
Gundry's grandson "Firm"--as he was called for Ephraim--ran up the
stairs to the little room where I was sitting by myself.

"Miss Rema, will you come with us?" he said, in his deep, slow style of
speech. "We are going up the mountain, to haul down the great tree to
the mill."

"To be sure I will come," I answered, gladly. "What great tree is it,
Mr. Ephraim?"

"The largest tree any where near here--the one we cut down last winter.
Ten days it took to cut it down. If I could have saved it, it should
have stood. But grandfather did it to prove his rights. We shall have a
rare job to lead it home, and I doubt if we can tackle it. I thought you
might like to see us try."

In less than a minute I was ready, for the warmth and softness of the
air made cloak or shawl unbearable. But when I ran down to the yard
of the mill, Mr. Gundry, who was giving orders, came up and gave me an
order too.

"You must not go like this, my dear. We have three thousand feet to go
upward. The air will be sharp up there, and I doubt if we shall be home
by night-fall. Run, Suan, and fetch the young lady's cloak, and a pair
of thicker boots for change."

Suan Isco never ran. That manner of motion was foreign to her, at
least as we accomplish it. When speed was required, she attained it
by increased length of stride and great vigor of heel. In this way she
conquered distance steadily, and with very little noise.

The air, and the light, and the beauty of the mountains were a sudden
joy to me. In front of us all strode Sampson Gundry, clearing all
tangles with a short, sharp axe, and mounting steep places as if
twoscore were struck off his threescore years and five. From time to
time he turned round to laugh, or see that his men and trained bullocks
were right; and then, as his bright eyes met my dark ones, he seemed
to be sorry for the noise he made. On the other hand, I was ashamed of
damping any one's pleasure by being there.

But I need not have felt any fear about this. Like all other children,
I wrapped myself up too much in my own importance, and behaved as if
my state of mind was a thing to be considered. But the longer we rose
through the freedom and the height, the lighter grew the heart of every
one, until the thick forest of pines closed round us, and we walked in a
silence that might be felt.

Hence we issued forth upon the rough bare rock, and after much trouble
with the cattle, and some bruises, stood panting on a rugged cone, or
crest, which had once been crowned with a Titan of a tree. The tree
was still there, but not its glory; for, alas! the mighty trunk lay
prostrate--a grander column than ever was or will be built by human
hands. The tapering shaft stretched out of sight for something like a
furlong, and the bulk of the butt rose over us so that we could not see
the mountains. Having never seen any such tree before, I must have been
amazed if I had been old enough to comprehend it.

Sampson Gundry, large as he was, and accustomed to almost every thing,
collected his men and the whole of his team on the ground-floor or area
of the stump before he would say any thing. Here we all looked so
sadly small that several of the men began to laugh; the bullocks seemed
nothing but raccoons or beavers to run on the branches or the fibres of
the tree; and the chains and the shackles, and the blocks and cranes,
and all the rest of the things they meant to use, seemed nothing
whatever, or at all to be considered, except as a spider's web upon this
tree.

The sagacious bullocks, who knew quite well what they were expected to
do, looked blank. Some rubbed their horns into one another's sadly, and
some cocked their tails because they felt that they could not be called
upon to work. The light of the afternoon sun came glancing along the
vast pillar, and lit its dying hues--cinnamon, purple, and glabrous red,
and soft gray where the lichens grew.

Every body looked at Mr. Gundry, and he began to cough a little, having
had lately some trouble with his throat. Then in his sturdy manner
he spoke the truth, according to his nature. He set his great square
shoulders against the butt of the tree, and delivered himself:

"Friends and neighbors, and hands of my own, I am taken in here, and I
own to it. It serves me right for disbelieving what my grandson, Firm
Gundry, said. I knew that the tree was a big one, of course, as every
body else does; but till you see a tree laid upon earth you get no grip
of his girth, no more than you do of a man till he lieth a corpse.
At the time of felling I could not come anigh him, by reason of an
accident; and I had some words with this boy about it, which kept me
away ever since that time. Firm, you were right, and I was wrong. It was
a real shame, now I see it, to throw down the 'King of the Mountains.'
But, for all that, being down, we must use him. He shall be sawn into
fifty-foot lengths. And I invite you all to come again, for six or seven
good turns at him."

At the hearing of this, a cheer arose, not only for the Sawyer's manly
truth, but also for his hospitality; because on each of these visits to
the mountain he was the host, and his supplies were good. But before the
descent with the empty teams began, young Ephraim did what appeared to
me to be a gallant and straightforward thing. He stood on the chine
of the fallen monster, forty feet above us, having gained the post of
vantage by activity and strength, and he asked if he might say a word or
two.

"Say away, lad," cried his grandfather, supposing, perhaps, in his
obstinate way (for truly he was very obstinate), that his grandson
was going now to clear himself from art or part in the murder of that
tree--an act which had roused indignation over a hundred leagues of
lowland.

"Neighbors," said Firm, in a clear young voice, which shook at first
with diffidence, "we all have to thank you, more than I can tell, for
coming to help us with this job. It was a job which required to be done
for legal reasons which I do not understand, but no doubt they were good
ones. For that we have my grandfather's word; and no one, I think, will
gainsay it. Now, having gone so far, we will not be beaten by it, or
else we shall not be Americans."

These simple words were received with great applause; and an orator,
standing on the largest stump to be found even in America, delivered a
speech which was very good to hear, but need not now be repeated. And
Mr. Gundry's eyes were moist with pleasure at his grandson's conduct.

"Firm knoweth the right thing to do," he said; "and like a man he doeth
it. But whatever aileth you, Miss Rema, and what can 'e see in the
distance yonner? Never mind, my dear, then. Tell me by-and-by, when none
of these folk is 'longside of us."

But I could not bear to tell him, till he forced it from me under pain
of his displeasure. I had spied on the sky-line far above us, in the
desert track of mountain, the very gap in which my father stood and bade
me seek this landmark. His memory was true, and his eyesight also; but
the great tree had been felled. The death of the "King of the Mountains"
had led to the death of the king of mankind, so far as my little world
contained one.



CHAPTER V

UNCLE SAM


The influence of the place in which I lived began to grow on me. The
warmth of the climate and the clouds of soft and fertile dust were
broken by the refreshing rush of water and the clear soft green of
leaves. We had fruit trees of almost every kind, from the peach to the
amber cherry, and countless oaks by the side of the river--not large,
but most fantastic. Here I used to sit and wonder, in a foolish,
childish way, whether on earth there was any other child so strangely
placed as I was. Of course there were thousands far worse off, more
desolate and destitute, but was there any more thickly wrapped in
mystery and loneliness?

A wanderer as I had been for years, together with my father, change of
place had not supplied the knowledge which flows from lapse of time.
Faith, and warmth, and trust in others had not been dashed out of me by
any rude blows of the world, as happens with unlucky children
huddled together in large cities. My father had never allowed me much
acquaintance with other children; for six years he had left me with a
community of lay sisters, in a little town of Languedoc, where I was the
only pupil, and where I was to remain as I was born, a simple heretic.
Those sisters were very good to me, and taught me as much as I could
take of secular accomplishment. And it was a bitter day for me when I
left them for America.

For during those six years I had seen my father at long intervals, and
had almost forgotten the earlier days when I was always with him. I used
to be the one little comfort of his perpetual wanderings, when I was a
careless child, and said things to amuse him. Not that he ever played
with me any more than he played with any thing; but I was the last of
his seven children, and he liked to watch me grow. I never knew it,
I never guessed it, until he gave his life for mine; but, poor little
common thing as I was, I became his only tie to earth. Even to me he
was never loving, in the way some fathers are. He never called me by pet
names, nor dandled me on his knee, nor kissed me, nor stroked down my
hair and smiled. Such things I never expected of him, and therefore
never missed them; I did not even know that happy children always have
them.

But one thing I knew, which is not always known to happier children:
I had the pleasure of knowing my own name. My name was an English
one--Castlewood--and by birth I was an English girl, though of England
I knew nothing, and at one time spoke and thought most easily in French.
But my longing had always been for England, and for the sound of English
voices and the quietude of English ways. In the chatter and heat and
drought of South France some faint remembrance of a greener, cooler,
and more silent country seemed to touch me now and then. But where in
England I had lived, or when I had left that country, or whether I had
relations there, and why I was doomed to be a foreign girl--all these
questions were but as curling wisps of cloud on memory's sky.

Of such things (much as I longed to know a good deal more about them) I
never had dared to ask my father; nor even could I, in a roundabout way,
such as clever children have, get second-hand information. In the
first place, I was not a clever child; for the next point, I never had
underhand skill; and finally, there was no one near me who knew any
thing about me. Like all other girls--and perhaps the very same tendency
is to be found in boys--I had strong though hazy ideas of caste. The
noble sense of equality, fraternity, and so on, seems to come later in
life than childhood, which is an age of ambition. I did not know who in
the world I was, but felt quite sure of being somebody.

One day, when the great tree had been sawn into lengths, and with the
aid of many teams brought home, and the pits and the hoisting tackle
were being prepared and strengthened to deal with it, Mr. Gundry, being
full of the subject, declared that he would have his dinner in the mill
yard. He was anxious to watch, without loss of time, the settlement of
some heavy timbers newly sunk in the river's bed, to defend the outworks
of the mill. Having his good leave to bring him his pipe, I found him
sitting upon a bench with a level fixed before him, and his empty
plate and cup laid by, among a great litter of tools and things. He was
looking along the level with one eye shut, and the other most sternly
intent; but when I came near he rose and raised his broad pith hat, and
made me think that I was not interrupting him.

"Here is your pipe, Uncle Sam," I said; for, in spite of all his formal
ways, I would not be afraid of him. I had known him now quite long
enough to be sure he was good and kind. And I knew that the world around
these parts was divided into two hemispheres, the better half being
of those who loved, and the baser half made of those who hated, Sawyer
Sampson Gundry.

"What a queer world it is!" said Mr. Gundry, accepting his pipe to
consider that point. "Who ever would have dreamed, fifty years agone,
that your father's daughter would ever have come with a pipe to light
for my father's son?"

"Uncle Sam," I replied, as he slowly began to make those puffs which
seem to be of the highest essence of pleasure, and wisps of blue
smoke flitted through his white eyebrows and among the snowy curls of
hair--"dear Uncle Sam, I am sure that it would be an honor to a princess
to light a pipe for a man like you."

"Miss Rema, I should rather you would talk no nonsense," he answered,
very shortly, and he set his eye along his level, as if I had offended
him. Not knowing how to assert myself and declare that I had spoken my
honest thoughts, I merely sat down on the bench and waited for him to
speak again to me. But he made believe to be very busy, and scarcely to
know that I was there. I had a great mind to cry, but resolved not to do
it.

"Why, how is this? What's the matter?" he exclaimed at last, when I had
been watching the water so long that I sighed to know where it was going
to. "Why, missy, you look as if you had never a friend in all the wide
world left."

"Then I must look very ungrateful," I said; "for at any rate I have one,
and a good one."

"And don't you know of any one but me, my dear?"

"You and Suan Isco and Firm--those are all I have any knowledge of."

"'Tis a plenty--to my mind, almost too many. My plan is to be a good
friend to all, but not let too many be friends with me. Rest you quite
satisfied with three, Miss Rema. I have lived a good many years, and I
never had more than three friends worth a puff of my pipe."

"But one's own relations, Uncle Sam--people quite nearly related to us:
it is impossible for them to be unkind, you know."

"Do I, my dear? Then I wish that I did. Except one's own father and
mother, there is not much to be hoped for out of them. My own brother
took a twist against me because I tried to save him from ruin; and if
any man ever wished me ill, he did. And I think that your father had the
same tale to tell. But there! I know nothing whatever about that."

"Now you do, Mr. Gundry; I am certain that you do, and beg you to tell
me, or rather I demand it. I am old enough now, and I am certain my dear
father would have wished me to know every thing. Whatever it was, I am
sure that he was right; and until I know that, I shall always be the
most miserable of the miserable."

The Sawyer looked at me as if he could not enter into my meaning,
and his broad, short nose and quiet eyes were beset with wrinkles of
inquiry. He quite forgot his level and his great post in the river, and
tilted back his ancient hat, and let his pipe rest on his big brown arm.
"Lord bless me!" he said, "what a young gal you are! Or, at least, what
a young Miss Rema. What good can you do, miss, by making of a rout? Here
you be in as quiet a place as you could find, and all of us likes
and pities you. Your father was a wise man to settle you here in this
enlightened continent. Let the doggoned old folk t'other side of the
world think out their own flustrations. A female young American you are
now, and a very fine specimen you will grow. 'Tis the finest thing to be
on all God's earth."

"No, Mr. Gundry, I am an English girl, and I mean to be an Englishwoman.
The Americans may be more kind and generous, and perhaps my father
thought so, and brought me here for that reason. And I may be glad to
come back to you again when I have done what I am bound to do. Remember
that I am the last of seven children, and do not even know where the
rest are buried."

"Now look straight afore you, missy. What do you see yonner?" The Sawyer
was getting a little tired, perhaps, of this long interruption.

"I see enormous logs, and a quantity of saws, and tools I don't even
know the names of. Also I see a bright, swift river."

"But over here, missy, between them two oaks. What do you please to see
there, Miss Rema?"

"What I see there, of course, is a great saw-mill."

"But it wouldn't have been 'of course,' and it wouldn't have been at
all, if I had spent all my days a-dwelling on the injuries of my family.
Could I have put that there unekaled sample of water-power and human
ingenuity together without laboring hard for whole months of a stretch,
except upon the Sabbath, and laying awake night after night, and bending
all my intellect over it? And could I have done that, think you now,
if my heart was a-mooning upon family wrongs, and this, that, and the
other?"

Here Sampson Gundry turned full upon me, and folded his arms, and spread
his great chin upon his deer-skin apron, and nodded briskly with his
deep gray eyes, surveying me in triumph. To his mind, that mill was the
wonder of the world, and any argument based upon it, with or without
coherence, was, like its circular saws, irresistible. And yet he thought
that women can not reason! However, I did not say another word just
then, but gave way to him, as behooved a child. And not only that, but I
always found him too good to be argued with--too kind, I mean, and large
of heart, and wedded to his own peculiar turns. There was nothing about
him that one could dislike, or strike fire at, and be captious; and he
always proceeded with such pity for those who were opposed to him that
they always knew they must be wrong, though he was too polite to tell
them so. And he had such a pleasant, paternal way of looking down into
one's little thoughts when he put on his spectacles, that to say any
more was to hazard the risk of ungrateful inexperience.



CHAPTER VI

A BRITISHER


The beautiful Blue River came from the jagged depths of the mountains,
full of light and liveliness. It had scarcely run six miles from its
source before it touched our mill-wheel; but in that space and time it
had gathered strong and copious volume. The lovely blue of the water
(like the inner tint of a glacier) was partly due to its origin,
perhaps, and partly to the rich, soft tone of the granite sand spread
under it. Whatever the cause may have been, the river well deserved its
title.

It was so bright and pure a blue, so limpid and pellucid, that it even
seemed to out-vie the tint of the sky which it reflected, and the myriad
sparks of sunshine on it twinkled like a crystal rain. Plodding through
the parched and scorching dust of the mountain-foot, through the
stifling vapor and the blinding, ochreous glare, the traveler suddenly
came upon this cool and calm delight. It was not to be descried afar,
for it lay below the level, and the oaks and other trees of shelter
scarcely topped the narrow comb. There was no canyon, such as are--and
some of them known over all the world--both to the north and south of
it. The Blue River did not owe its birth to any fierce convulsion, but
sparkled on its cheerful way without impending horrors. Standing here
as a child, and thinking, from the manner of my father, that strong men
never wept nor owned the conquest of emotion, I felt sometimes a fool's
contempt for the gushing transport of brave men. For instance, I have
seen a miner, or a tamer of horses, or a rough fur-hunter, or (perhaps
the bravest of all) a man of science and topography, jaded, worn, and
nearly dead with drought and dearth and choking, suddenly, and beyond
all hope, strike on this buried Eden. And then he dropped on his knees
and spread his starved hands upward, if he could, and thanked the God
who made him, till his head went round, and who knows what remembrance
of loved ones came to him? And then, if he had any moisture left, he
fell to a passion of weeping.

In childish ignorance I thought that this man weakly degraded himself,
and should have been born a woman. But since that time I have truly
learned that the bravest of men are those who feel their Maker's Land
most softly, and are not ashamed to pay the tribute of their weakness to
Him.

Living, as we did, in a lonely place, and yet not far from a track along
the crest of the great Californian plain from Sacramento southward,
there was scarcely a week which did not bring us some traveler needing
comfort. Mr. Gundry used to be told that if he would set up a rough
hotel, or house of call for cattle-drovers, miners, loafers, and so
on, he might turn twice the money he could ever make by his thriving
saw-mill. But he only used to laugh, and say that nature had made him
too honest for that; and he never thought of charging any thing for his
hospitality, though if a rich man left a gold piece, or even a nugget,
upon a shelf, as happened very often, Sawyer Gundry did not disdain
to set it aside for a rainy day. And one of his richest or most lavish
guests arrived on my account, perhaps.

It happened when daylight was growing shorter, and the red heat of the
earth was gone, and the snow-line of distant granite peaks had crept
already lower, and the chattering birds that spent their summer in our
band of oak-trees were beginning to find their food get short, and to
prime swift wings for the lowland; and I, having never felt bitter cold,
was trembling at what I heard of it. For now it was clear that I had no
choice but to stay where I was for the present, and be truly thankful to
God and man for having the chance of doing so. For the little relics
of my affairs--so far as I had any--had taken much time in arrangement,
perhaps because it was so hard to find them. I knew nothing, except
about my own little common wardrobe, and could give no information about
the contents of my father's packages. But these, by dint of perseverance
on the part of Ephraim (who was very keen about all rights), had mainly
been recovered, and Mr. Gundry had done the best that could be done
concerning them. Whatever seemed of a private nature, or likely to prove
important, had been brought home to Blue River Mills; the rest had been
sold, and had fetched large prices, unless Mr. Gundry enlarged them.

He more than enlarged, he multiplied them, as I found out long
afterward, to make me think myself rich and grand, while a beggar upon
his bounty. I had never been accustomed to think of money, and felt
some little contempt for it--not, indeed, a lofty hatred, but a careless
wonder why it seemed to be always thought of. It was one of the last
things I ever thought of; and those who were waiting for it were--until
I got used to them--obliged in self-duty to remind me.

This, however, was not my fault. I never dreamed of wronging them. But
I had earned no practical knowledge of the great world any where, much
though I had wandered about, according to vague recollections. The duty
of paying had never been mine; that important part had been done for me.
And my father had such a horror always of any growth of avarice that he
never gave me sixpence.

And now, when I heard upon every side continual talk of money, from Suan
Isco upward, I thought at first that the New World must be different
from the Old one, and that the gold mines in the neighborhood must have
made them full of it; and once or twice I asked Uncle Sam; but he only
nodded his head, and said that it was the practice every where. And
before very long I began to perceive that he did not exaggerate.

Nothing could prove this point more clearly than the circumstance above
referred to--the arrival of a stranger, for the purpose of bribing even
Uncle Sam himself. This happened in the month of November, when the
passes were beginning to be blocked with snow, and those of the higher
mountain tracts had long been overwhelmed with it. On this particular
day the air was laden with gray, oppressive clouds, threatening a heavy
downfall, and instead of faring forth, as usual, to my beloved river, I
was kept in-doors, and even up stairs, by a violent snow-headache. This
is a crushing weight of pain, which all new-comers, or almost all, are
obliged to endure, sometimes for as much as eight-and-forty hours, when
the first great snow of the winter is breeding, as they express it,
overhead. But I was more lucky than most people are; for after about
twelve hours of almost intolerable throbbing, during which the sweetest
sound was odious, and the idea of food quite loathsome, the agony left
me, and a great desire for something to eat succeeded. Suan Isco, the
kindest of the kind, was gone down stairs at last, for which I felt
ungrateful gratitude--because she had been doing her best to charm
away my pain by low, monotonous Indian ditties, which made it ten times
worse; and yet I could not find heart to tell her so.

Now it must have been past six o'clock in the evening of the November
day when the avalanche slid off my head, and I was able to lift it. The
light of the west had been faint, and was dead; though often it used
to prolong our day by the backward glance of the ocean. With pangs of
youthful hunger, but a head still weak and dazy, I groped my way in the
dark through the passage and down the stairs of redwood.

At the bottom, where a railed landing was, and the door opened into the
house-room, I was surprised to find that, instead of the usual cheerful
company enjoying themselves by the fire-light, there were only two
people present. The Sawyer sat stiffly in his chair of state, delaying
even the indulgence of his pipe, and having his face set sternly, as I
had never before beheld it. In the visitor's corner, as we called it,
where people sat to dry themselves, there was a man, and only one.

Something told me that I had better keep back and not disturb them. The
room was not in its usual state of comfort and hospitality. Some kind of
meal had been made at the table, as always must be in these parts;
but not of the genial, reckless sort which random travelers carried
on without any check from the Sawyer. For he of all men ever born in
a civilized age was the finest host, and a guest beneath his roof
was sacred as a lady to a knight. Hence it happened that I was much
surprised. Proper conduct almost compelled me to withdraw; but curiosity
made me take just one more little peep, perhaps. Looking back at these
things now, I can not be sure of every thing; and indeed if I could, I
must have an almost supernatural memory. But I remember many things; and
the headache may have cleared my mind.

The stranger who had brought Mr. Gundry's humor into such stiff
condition was sitting in the corner, a nook where light and shadow made
an eddy. He seemed to be perfectly unconcerned about all the tricks of
the hearth flame, presenting as he did a most solid face for any light
to play upon. To me it seemed to be a weather-beaten face of a bluff and
resolute man, the like of which we attribute to John Bull. At any rate,
he was like John Bull in one respect: he was sturdy and square, and fit
to hold his own with any man.

Strangers of this sort had come (as Englishmen rove every where), and
been kindly welcomed by Uncle Sam, who, being of recent English blood,
had a kind of hankering after it, and would almost rather have such at
his board than even a true-born American; and infinitely more welcome
were they than Frenchman, Spaniard, or German, or any man not to be
distinguished, as was the case with some of them. Even now it was clear
that the Sawyer had not grudged any tokens of honor, for the tall,
square, brazen candlesticks, of Boston make, were on the table, and
very little light they gave. The fire, however, was grandly roaring of
stub-oak and pine antlers, and the black grill of the chimney bricks
was fringed with lifting filaments. It was a rich, ripe light, affording
breadth and play for shadow; and the faces of the two men glistened, and
darkened in their creases.

I was dressed in black, and could not be seen, though I could see them
so clearly; and I doubted whether to pass through, upon my way to the
larder, or return to my room and starve a little longer; for I did not
wish to interrupt, and had no idea of listening. But suddenly I was
compelled to stop; and to listen became an honest thing, when I knew
what was spoken of--or, at any rate, I did it.

"Castlewood, Master Colonist; Castlewood is the name of the man that I
have come to ask about. And you will find it worth your while to tell me
all you know of him." Thus spoke the Englishman sitting in the corner;
and he seemed to be certain of producing his effect.

"Wal," said Uncle Sam, assuming what all true Britons believe to be the
universal Yankee tone, while I knew that he was laughing in his sleeve,
"Squire, I guess that you may be right. Considerations of that 'ere kind
desarves to be considered of."

"Just so. I knew that you must see it," the stranger continued, bravely.
"A stiff upper lip, as you call it here, is all very well to begin with.
But all you enlightened members of the great republic know what is what.
It will bring you more than ten years' income of your saw-mill, and
farm, and so on, to deal honestly with me for ten minutes. No more
beating about the bush and fencing with me, as you have done. Now can
you see your own interest?"

"I never were reckoned a fool at that. Squire, make tracks, and be done
with it."

"Then, Master Colonist, or Colonel--for I believe you are all colonels
here--your task is very simple. We want clear proof, sworn properly and
attested duly, of the death of a villain--George Castlewood, otherwise
the Honorable George Castlewood, otherwise Lord Castlewood: a man who
murdered his own father ten years ago this November: a man committed
for trial for the crime, but who bribed his jailers and escaped, and
wandered all over the Continent. What is that noise? Have you got rats?"

"Plenty of foreign rats, and native 'coons, and skunks, and other
varmint. Wal, Squire, go on with it."

The voice of Uncle Sam was stern, and his face full of rising fury, as
I, who had made that noise in my horror, tried to hush my heart with
patience.

"The story is well known," continued the stranger: "we need make no
bones of it. George Castlewood went about under a curse--"

"Not quite so loud, Squire, if you please. My household is not
altogether seasoned."

"And perhaps you have got the young lady somewhere. I heard a report to
that effect. But here you think nothing of a dozen murders. Now, Gundry,
let us have no squeamishness. We only want justice, and we can pay for
it. Ten thousand dollars I am authorized to offer for a mere act of duty
on your part. We have an extradition treaty. If the man had been alive,
we must have had him. But as he has cheated the hangman by dying, we can
only see his grave and have evidence. And all well-disposed people must
rejoice to have such a quiet end of it. For the family is so well known,
you see."

"I see," Mr. Gundry answered, quietly, laying a finger on his lips.
"Guess you want something more than that, though, Squire. Is there
nothing more than the grave to oblige a noble Britisher with?"

"Yes, Colonel; we want the girl as well. We know that she was with him
in that caravan, or wagon train, or whatever you please to call it.
We know that you have made oath of his death, produced his child, and
obtained his trunks, and drawn his share in the insurance job. Your laws
must be queer to let you do such things. In England it would have taken
at least three years, and cost a deal more than the things were worth,
even without a Chancery suit. However, of his papers I shall take
possession; they can be of no earthly use to you."

"To be sure. And possession of his darter too, without so much as a
Chancery suit. But what is to satisfy me, Squire, agin goin' wrong in
this little transaction?"

"I can very soon satisfy you," said the stranger, "as to their identity.
Here is their full, particular, and correct description--names, weights,
and colors of the parties."

With a broad grin at his own exquisite wit, the bluff man drew forth his
pocket-book, and took out a paper, which he began to smooth on his knee
quite leisurely. Meanwhile, in my hiding-place, I was trembling with
terror and indignation. The sense of eavesdropping was wholly lost, in
that of my own jeopardy. I must know what was arranged about me; for
I felt such a hatred and fear of that stranger that sooner than be
surrendered to him I would rush back to my room and jump out of the
window, and trust myself to the trackless forest and the snowy night.
I was very nearly doing so, but just had sense enough to wait and hear
what would be said of me. So I lurked in the darkness, behind the rails,
while the stranger read slowly and pompously.



CHAPTER VII

DISCOMFITURE


The Englishman drew forth a double eyeglass from a red velvet waistcoat,
and mounting it on his broad nose, came nearer to get the full light of
the candles. I saw him as clearly as I could wish, and, indeed, a great
deal too clearly; for the more I saw of the man, the more I shrank from
the thought of being in his power. Not that he seemed to be brutal or
fierce, but selfish, and resolute, and hard-hearted, and scornful of
lofty feelings. Short dust-colored hair and frizzly whiskers framed
his large, thick-featured face, and wearing no mustache, he showed the
clumsy sneer of a wide, coarse mouth. I watched him with all my eyes,
because of his tone of authority about myself. He might even be my
guardian or my father's nearest relation--though he seemed to be too
ill-bred for that.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel," he went on, in a patronizing tone,
such as he had assumed throughout. "Here it is. Now prick your ears up,
and see if these candid remarks apply. I am reading from a printed form,
you see:

"'George Castlewood is forty-eight years old, but looks perhaps ten
years older. His height is over six feet two, and he does not stoop or
slouch at all. His hair is long and abundant, but white; his eyes are
dark, piercing, and gloomy. His features are fine, and of Italian cast,
but stern, morose, and forbidding, and he never uses razor. On the back
of his left hand, near the wrist, there is a broad scar. He dresses in
half-mourning always, and never wears any jewelry, but strictly shuns
all society, and prefers uncivilized regions. He never stays long in
any town, and follows no occupation, though his aspect and carriage are
military, as he has been a cavalry officer. From time to time he has
been heard of in Europe, Asia, and Africa, and is now believed to be in
America.

"'His only surviving child, a girl of about fifteen, has been seen with
him. She is tall and slight and very straight, and speaks French better
than English. Her hair is very nearly black, and her eyes of unusual
size and lustre. She is shy, and appears to have been kept under, and
she has a timid smile. Whether she knows of her father's crime or not is
quite uncertain; but she follows him like a dog almost.'

"There now, Colonel," cried the Englishman, as he folded the paper
triumphantly; "most of that came from my information, though I never set
eyes upon the child. Does the cap fit or not, Brother Jonathan?"

Mr. Gundry was leaning back in his own corner, with a favorite pipe,
carved by himself, reposing on his waistcoat. And being thus appealed
to, he looked up and rubbed his eyes as if he had been dozing, though
he never had been more wide awake, as I, who knew his attitudes, could
tell. And my eyes filled with tears of love and shame, for I knew by the
mere turn of his chin that he never would surrender me.

"Stranger," he said, in a most provoking drawl, "a hard day's work
tells its tale on me, you bet. You do read so bootiful, you read me hard
asleep. And the gutturals of that furrin English is always a little hard
to catch. Mought I trouble you just to go through it again? You likes
the sound of your own voice; and no blame to you, being such a swate
un."

The Englishman looked at him keenly, as if he had some suspicion of
being chaffed; but the face of the Sawyer was so grave and the bend of
his head so courteous that he could not refuse to do as he was asked.
But he glanced first at the whiskey bottle standing between the
candlesticks; and I knew it boded ill for his errand when Uncle Sam, the
most hospitable of men, feigned pure incomprehension of that glance. The
man should have no more under that roof.

With a sullen air and a muttered curse, at which Mr. Gundry blew a
wreath of smoke, the stranger unfolded his paper again, and saying, "Now
I beg you to attend this time," read the whole of his description, with
much emphasis, again, while the Sawyer turned away and beat time
upon the hearth, with his white hair, broad shoulders, and red ears
prominent. The Englishman looked very seriously vexed, but went through
his business doggedly. "Are you satisfied now?" he asked when he had
finished.

"Wal, now, Squire," replied Uncle Sam, still keeping up his provoking
drawl, but turning round and looking at the stranger very steadfastly,
"some thin's is so pooty and so ilegantly done, they seems a'most as
good as well-slung flapjacks. A natteral honest stomick can't nohow have
enough of them. Mought I be so bold, in a silly, mountaneous sort of a
way, as to ax for another heerin' of it?"

"Do you mean to insult me, Sir?" shouted the visitor, leaping up with a
flaming face, and throwing himself into an attitude of attack.

"Stranger, I mought," answered Mr. Gundry, standing squarely before him,
and keeping his hands contemptuously behind his back--"I mought so do,
barrin' one little point. The cutest commissioner in all the West would
have to report 'Non compos' if his orders was to diskiver somethin'
capable of bein' insulted in a fellow of your natur'."

With these words Uncle Sam sat down, and powerfully closed his mouth,
signifying that now the matter was taken through every phase of
discussion, and had been thoroughly exhausted. His visitor stared at him
for a moment, as if at some strange phenomenon, and then fell back into
self-command, without attempting bluster.

"Colonel, you are a 'cure,' as we call it on our side of the herring
pond. What have I done to 'riz your dander,' as you elegantly express it
here?"

"Britisher, nothing. You know no better. It takes more than that to put
my back up. But forty years agone I do believe I must 'a heaved you out
o' window."

"Why, Colonel, why? Now be reasonable. Not a word have I said reflecting
either upon you or your country; and a finer offer than I have made can
not come to many of you, even in this land of gold. Ten thousand dollars
I offer, and I will exceed my instructions and say fifteen, all paid on
the nail by an order on Frisco, about which you may assure yourself. And
what do I ask in return? Legal proof of the death of a man whom we know
to be dead, and the custody of his child, for her own good."

"Squire, I have no other answer to make. If you offered me all the gold
dug in these mountains since they were discovered, I could only say what
I have said before. You came from Sylvester's ranch--there is time for
you to get back ere the snow begins."

"What a hospitable man you are! Upon my word, Gundry, you deserve to
have a medal from our Humane Society. You propose to turn me out of
doors to-night, with a great fall of snow impending?"

"Sir, the fault is entirely your own. What hospitality can you expect
after coming to buy my guest? If you are afraid of the ten-mile ride,
my man at the mill will bed you. But here you must not sleep, because
I might harm you in the morning. I am apt to lose my temper sometimes,
when I go on to think of things."

"Colonel, I think I had better ride back. I fear no man, nor his temper,
nor crotchets. But if I were snowed up at your mill, I never might
cross the hill-foot for months; but from Sylvester's I can always get to
Minto. You refuse, then, to help me in any way?"

"More than that. I will do every thing in my power to confound you. If
any one comes prowling after that young lady, he shall be shot."

"That is most discouraging. However, you may think better of it. Write
to this address if you do. You have the girl here, of course?"

"That is her concern and mine. Does your guide know the way right well!
The snow is beginning. You do not know our snows, any more than you know
us."

"Never mind, Mr. Gundry. I shall do very well. You are rough in your
ways, but you mean to do the right; and your indignation is virtuous.
But mark my words upon one little point. If George Castlewood had been
living, I have such credentials that I would have dragged him back with
me in spite of all your bluster. But over his corpse I have no control,
in the present condition of treaties. Neither can I meddle with his
daughter, if it were worth while to do so. Keep her and make the best of
her, my man. You have taken a snake in the grass to your bosom, if that
is what you are up for. A very handsome girl she may be, but a bad
lot, as her father was. If you wish the name of Gundry to have its due
respect hereafter, let the heir of the sawmills have nothing to do with
the Honorable Miss Castlewood."

"Let alone, let alone," Uncle Sam said, angrily. "It is well for you
that the 'heir of the saw-mills' hath not heard your insolence. Firm is
a steady lad; but he knoweth well which foot to kick with. No fear
of losing the way to Sylvester's ranch with Firm behind you. But,
meddlesome as you be, and a bitter weed to my experience, it shall not
be said that Sampson Gundry sent forth a fellow to be frozen. Drink a
glass of hot whiskey before you get to saddle. Not in friendship, mind
you, Sir, but in common human nature."

That execrable man complied, for he began to be doubtful of the driving
snow, now huddling against the window-frames. And so he went out; and
when he was gone, I came forth into the fire-light, and threw my arms
round the Sawyer's neck and kissed him till he was ashamed of me.

"Miss Rema, my dear, my poor little soul, what makes you carry on so?"

"Because I have heard every word, Uncle Sam, and I was base enough to
doubt you."



CHAPTER VIII

A DOUBTFUL LOSS


When I tried to look out of my window in the morning, I was quite
astonished at the state of things. To look out fairly was impossible;
for not only was all the lower part of the frame hillocked up like a
sandglass, and the sides filled in with dusky plaits, but even in the
middle, where some outlook was, it led to very little. All the air
seemed choked with snow, and the ground coming up in piles to meet it;
all sounds were deadened in the thick gray hush, and nothing had its own
proportion. Never having seen such a thing before, I was frightened, and
longed to know more of it.

Mr. Gundry had a good laugh at me, in which even Suan Isco joined, when
I proposed to sweep a path to the mill, and keep it open through the
winter.

"It can be done--I am sure it can," I exclaimed, with vigorous
ignorance. "May I do it if I can? It only requires perseverance. If you
keep on sweeping as fast as it falls, you must overcome it. Don't you
see, Uncle Sam?"

"To be sure I do, Miss Rema, as plain as any pikestaff. Suan, fetch a
double bundle of new brooms from top loft, and don't forget while you
be up there to give special orders--no snow is to fall at night or when
missy is at dinner."

"You may laugh as much as you please, Uncle Sam, but I intend to try it.
I must try to keep my path to--somewhere."

"What a fool I am, to be sure!" said Mr. Gundry, softly. "There, now, I
beg your pardon, my dear, for never giving a thought to it. Firm and I
will do it for you, as long as the Lord allows of it. Why, the snow is
two foot deep a'ready, and twenty foot in places. I wonder whether that
rogue of a Goad got home to Sylvester's ranch last night? No fault of
mine if he never did, for go he would in spite of me."

I had not been thinking of Mr. Goad, and indeed I did not know his
name until it was told in this way. My mind was dwelling on my father's
grave, where I used to love to sit and think; and I could not bear the
idea of the cold snow lying over it, with nobody coming to care for him.
Kind hands had borne him down the mountains (while I lay between life
and death) and buried him in the soft peach orchard, in the soothing
sound of the mill-wheel. Here had been planted above his head a cross
of white un-painted wood, bearing only his initials, and a small "Amen"
below them.

With this I was quite content, believing that he would have wished no
better, being a very independent man, and desirous of no kind of pomp.
There was no "consecrated ground" within miles and miles of traveling;
but I hoped that he might rest as well with simple tears to hallow it.
For often and often, even now, I could not help giving way and sobbing,
when I thought how sad it was that a strong, commanding, mighty man, of
great will and large experience, should drop in a corner of the world
and die, and finally be thought lucky--when he could think for himself
no longer--to obtain a tranquil, unknown grave, and end with his
initials, and have a water-wheel to sing to him. Many a time it set
me crying, and made me long to lie down with him, until I thought of
earth-worms.

All that could be done was done by Sampson and Firm Gundry, to let me
have my clear path, and a clear bourne at the end of it. But even with a
steam snow-shovel they could not have kept the way unstopped, such solid
masses of the mountain clouds now descended over us. And never had I
been so humored in my foolish wishes: I was quite ashamed to see the
trouble great men took to please me.

"Well, I am sorry to hear it, Firm," said the Sawyer, coming in one day,
with clouts of snow in his snowy curls. "Not that I care a cent for the
fellow--and an impudenter fellow never sucked a pipe. Still, he might
have had time to mend, if his time had been as good as the room for it.
However, no blame rests on us. I told him to bed down to saw-mill. They
Englishmen never know when they are well off. But the horse got home,
they tell me?"

"The horse got home all right, grandfather, and so did the other horse
and man. But Sylvester thinks that a pile of dollars must have died out
in the snow-drift. It is a queer story. We shall never know the rights."

"How many times did I tell him," the Sawyer replied, without much
discontent, "that it were a risky thing to try the gulches, such a night
as that? His own way he would have, however; and finer liars than he
could ever stick up to be for a score of years have gone, time upon
time, to the land of truth by means of that same view of things. They
take every body else for a liar."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, who is it?" I cried. "Is it that dreadful--that poor man
who wanted to carry me away from you?"

"Now you go in, missy; you go to the fire-hearth," Mr. Gundry answered,
more roughly than usual. "Leave you all such points to the Lord. They
are not for young ladies to talk about."

"Grandfather, don't you be too hard," said Firm, as he saw me hurrying
away. "Miss Rema has asked nothing unbecoming, but only concerning her
own affairs. If we refuse to tell her, others will."

"Very well, then, so be it," the Sawyer replied; for he yielded more to
his grandson than to the rest of the world put together. "Turn the log
up, Firm, and put the pan on. You boys can go on without victuals all
day, but an old man must feed regular. And, bad as he was, I thank God
for sending him on his way home with his belly full. If ever he turneth
up in the snow, that much can be proved to my account."

Young as I was, and little practiced in the ways of settlers, I could
not help perceiving that Uncle Sam was very much put out--not at the
death of the man so sadly, as at the worry of his dying so in going
from a hospitable house. Mr. Gundry cared little what any body said
concerning his honor, or courage, or such like; but the thought of a
whisper against his hospitality would rouse him.

"Find him, Firm, find him," he said, in his deep sad voice, as he sat
down on the antlered stump and gazed at the fire gloomily. "And when
he is found, call a public postmortem, and prove that we gave him his
bellyful."

Ephraim, knowing the old man's ways, and the manners, perhaps, of the
neighborhood, beckoned to Suan to be quick with something hot, that he
might hurry out again. Then he took his dinner standing, and without a
word went forth to seek.

"Take the snow-harrow, and take Jowler," the old man shouted after him,
and the youth turned round at the gate and waved his cap to show that
he heard him. The snow was again falling heavily, and the afternoon was
waning; and the last thing we saw was the brush of the mighty tail of
the great dog Jowler.

"Oh, uncle, Firm will be lost himself!" I cried, in dismay at the great
white waste. "And the poor man, whoever he is, must be dead. Do call him
back, or let me run."

Mr. Gundry's only answer was to lead me back to the fireside, where
he made me sit down, and examined me, while Suan was frying the
butter-beans.

"Who was it spied you on the mountains, missy, the whole of the way from
the redwood-tree, although you lay senseless on the ground, and he was
hard at work with the loppings?"

"Why, Ephraim, of course, Uncle Sam; every body says that nobody else
could have noticed such a thing at such a distance."

"Very well, my dear; and who was it carried you all the way to this
house, without stopping, or even letting your head droop down, although
it was a burning hot May morn?"

"Mr. Gundry, as if you did not know a great deal better than I do! It
was weeks before I could thank him, even. But you must have seen him do
it all."

The Sawyer rubbed his chin, which was large enough for a great deal of
rubbing; and when he did that, I was always sure that an argument went
to his liking. He said nothing more for the present, but had his dinner,
and enjoyed it.

"Supposing now that he did all that," he resumed, about an hour
afterward, "is Firm the sort of boy you would look to to lose his own
self in a snow-drift? He has three men with him, and he is worth all
three, let alone the big dog Jowler, who has dug out forty feet of snow
ere now. If that rogue of an Englishman, Goad, has had the luck to cheat
the hangman, and the honor to die in a Californy snow-drift, you may
take my experience for it, missy, Firm and Jowler will find him, and
clear Uncle Sam's reputation."



CHAPTER IX

WATER-SPOUT


If Mr. Gundry was in one way right, he was equally wrong in the other.
Firm came home quite safe and sound, though smothered with snow and
most hungry; but he thought that he should have staid out all the night,
because he had failed of his errand. Jowler also was full of discontent
and trouble of conscience. He knew, when he kicked up his heels in the
snow, that his duty was to find somebody, and being of Alpine pedigree,
and trained to act up to his ancestry, he now dropped his tail with
failure.

"It comes to the same thing," said Sawyer Gundry; "it is foolish to
be so particular. A thousand better men have sunk through being so
pig-headed. We shall find the rogue toward the end of March, or in
April, if the season suits. Firm, eat your supper and shake yourself."

This was exactly the Sawyer's way--to take things quietly when convinced
that there was no chance to better them. He would always do his best
about the smallest trifle; but after that, be the matter small or great,
he had a smiling face for the end of it.

The winter, with all its weight of sameness and of dreariness, went at
last, and the lovely spring from the soft Pacific found its gradual way
to us. Accustomed as I was to gentler climates and more easy changes,
I lost myself in admiration of this my first Californian spring. The
flowers, the leagues and leagues of flowers, that burst into color and
harmony--purple, yellow, and delicate lilac, woven with bright crimson
threads, and fringed with emerald-green by the banks, and blue by the
course of rivers, while deepened here and there by wooded shelter and
cool places, with the silver-gray of the soft Pacific waning in far
distance, and silken vapor drawing toward the carding forks of the
mountain range; and over all the never-wearying azure of the limpid sky:
child as I was, and full of little worldly troubles on my own account,
these grand and noble sights enlarged me without any thinking.

The wheat and the maize were grown apace, and beans come into full
blossom, and the peaches swinging in the western breeze were almost as
large as walnuts, and all things in their prime of freshness, ere the
yellow dust arrived, when a sudden melting of snow in some gully sent
a strong flood down our Blue River. The saw-mill happened to be hard at
work; and before the gear could be lifted, some damage was done to the
floats by the heavy, impetuous rush of the torrent. Uncle Sam was away,
and so was Firm; from which, perhaps, the mischief grew. However, the
blame was all put on the river, and little more was said of it.

The following morning I went down before even Firm was out-of-doors,
under some touch, perhaps, of natural desire to know things. The stream
was as pure and bright as ever, hastening down its gravel-path of fine
granite just as usual, except that it had more volume and a stronger
sense of freshness. Only the bent of the grasses and the swath of the
pendulous twigs down stream remained to show that there must have been
some violence quite lately.

All Mr. Gundry's strengthening piles and shores were as firm as need
be, and the clear blue water played around them as if they were no
constraint to it. And none but a practiced eye could see that the great
wheel had been wounded, being undershot, and lifted now above the power
of the current, according to the fine old plan of locking the door when
the horse is gone.

When I was looking up and wondering where to find the mischief, Martin,
the foreman, came out and crossed the plank, with his mouth full of
breakfast.

"Show me," I said, with an air, perhaps, of very young importance,
"where and what the damage is. Is there any strain to the iron-work?"

"Lor' a mercy, young missus!" he answered, gruffly, being by no means a
polished man, "where did you ever hear of ironwork? Needles and pins is
enough for you. Now don't you go and make no mischief."

"I have no idea what you mean," I answered. "If you have been careless,
that is no concern of mine."

"Careless, indeed! And the way I works, when others is a-snorin' in
their beds! I might just as well do nort, every bit, and get more thanks
and better wages. That's the way of the world all over. Come Saturday
week, I shall better myself."

"But if it's the way of the world all over, how will you better
yourself, unless you go out of the world altogether!" I put this
question to Martin with the earnest simplicity of the young, meaning no
kind of sarcasm, but knowing that scarcely a week went by without his
threatening to "better himself." And they said that he had done so for
seven years or more.

"Don't you be too sharp," he replied, with a grim smile, partly at
himself, perhaps. "If half as I heard about you is true, you'll want
all your sharpness for yourself, Miss Remy. And the Britishers are worse
than we be."

"Well, Martin, I am sure you would help me," I said, "if you saw any
person injuring me. But what is it I am not to tell your master?"

"My master, indeed! Well, you need not tell old Gundry any thing about
what you have seen. It might lead to hard words; and hard words are not
the style of thing I put up with. If any man tries hard words with me, I
knocks him down, up sticks, and makes tracks."

I could not help smiling at the poor man's talk. Sawyer Gundry could
have taken him with one hand and tossed him over the undershot wheel.

"You forget that I have not seen any thing," I said, "and understand
nothing but 'needles and pins.' But, for fear of doing any harm, I will
not even say that I have been down here, unless I am asked about it."

"Miss Remy, you are a good girl, and you shall have the mill some day.
Lord, don't your little great eyes see the job they are a-doin' of?
The finest stroke in all Californy, when the stubborn old chap takes to
quartz-crushing."

All this was beyond me, and I told him so, and we parted good friends,
while he shook his long head and went home to feed many pappooses.
For the strangest thing of all things was, though I never at that time
thought of it, that there was not any one about this place whom any one
could help liking. Martin took as long as any body to be liked, until
one understood him; but after that he was one of the best, in many ways
that can not be described. Also there was a pair of negroes, simply and
sweetly delightful. They worked all day and they sang all night, though
I had not the pleasure of hearing them; and the more Suan Isco despised
them--because they were black, and she was only brown--the more they
made up to her, not at all because she governed the supply of victuals.
It was childish to have such ideas, though Suan herself could never get
rid of them. The truth, as I came to know afterward, was that a large,
free-hearted, and determined man was at the head of every thing. Martin
was the only one who ever grumbled, and he had established a long right
to do so by never himself being grumbled at.

"I'll be bound that poor fellow is in a sad way," Mr. Gundry said at
breakfast-time. "He knows how much he is to blame, and I fear that he
won't eat a bit for the day. Martin is a most conscientious man. He will
offer to give up his berth, although it would be his simple ruin."

I was wise enough not to say a word, though Firm looked at me keenly. He
knew that I had been down at the mill, and expected me to say something.

"We all must have our little mistakes," continued Sawyer Gundry; "but I
never like to push a man when he feels it. I shall not say a syllable to
Martin; and, Ephraim, you will do the like. When a fellow sticks well to
his work like Martin, never blame him for a mere accident."

Firm, according to his habit, made no answer when he did not quite
agree. In talking with his own age he might have argued, but he did not
argue with his grandfather.

"I shall just go down and put it right myself. Martin is a poor hand at
repairing. Firm, you go up the gulch, and see if the fresh has hurt the
hurdles. Missy, you may come with me, if you please, and sketch me at
work in the mill-wheel. You have drawn that wheel such a sight of times,
you must know every feather of it better than the man who made it."

"Uncle Sam, you are too bad," I said. "I have never got it right, and I
never shall."

I did not dare as yet to think what really proved to be true in the
end--that I could not draw the wheel correctly because itself was
incorrect. In spite of all Mr. Gundry's skill and labor and ingenuity,
the wheel was no true circle. The error began in the hub itself, and
increased, of course, with the distance; but still it worked very well,
like many other things that are not perfect.

Having no idea of this as yet, and doubting nothing except my own
perception of "perspective," I sat down once more in my favorite spot,
and waited for the master to appear as an active figure in the midst
of it. The air was particularly bright and clear, even for that pure
climate, and I could even see the blue-winged flies darting in and out
of the oozy floats. But half-way up the mountains a white cloud was
hanging, a cloud that kept on changing shape. I only observed it as a
thing to put in for my background, because I was fond of trying to tone
and touch up my sketches with French chalks.

Presently I heard a harsh metallic sound and creaking of machinery. The
bites, or clamps, or whatever they are called, were being put on, to
keep the wheel from revolving with the Sawyer's weight. Martin, the
foreman, was grumbling and growling, according to his habit, and peering
through the slot, or channel of stone, in which the axle worked, and the
cheery voice of Mr. Gundry was putting down his objections. Being much
too large to pass through the slot, Mr. Gundry came round the corner
of the building, with a heavy leathern bag of tools strapped round his
neck, and his canvas breeches girt above his knees. But the foreman
staid inside to hand him the needful material into the wheel.

The Sawyer waded merrily down the shallow blue water, for he was always
like a boy when he was at work, and he waved his little skull-cap to me,
and swung himself up into the wheel, as if he were nearer seventeen than
seventy. And presently I could only see his legs and arms as he fell to
work. Therefore I also fell to work, with my best attempts at penciling,
having been carefully taught enough of drawing to know that I could not
draw. And perhaps I caught from the old man's presence and the sound of
his activity that strong desire to do my best which he seemed to impart
to every one.

At any rate, I was so engrossed that I scarcely observed the changing
light, except as a hindrance to my work and a trouble to my distance,
till suddenly some great drops fell upon my paper and upon my hat, and
a rush of dark wind almost swept me from the log upon which I sat. Then
again all was a perfect calm, and the young leaves over the stream hung
heavily on their tender foot-stalks, and the points of the breeze-swept
grass turned back, and the ruffle of all things smoothed itself. But
there seemed to be a sense of fear in the waiting silence of earth and
air.

This deep, unnatural stillness scared me, and I made up my mind to
run away. But the hammer of the Sawyer sounded as I had never heard it
sound. He was much too hard at work to pay any heed to sky or stream,
and the fall of his strokes was dead and hollow, as if the place
resented them.

"Come away, come away," I cried, as I ran and stood on the opposite bank
to him; "there is something quite wrong in the weather, I am sure. I
entreat you to come away at once, Uncle Sam. Every thing is so strange
and odd."

"Why, what's to do now?" asked the Sawyer, coming to my side of the
wheel and looking at me, with his spectacles tilted up, and his apron
wedged in a piece of timber, and his solid figure resting in the
impossibility of hurry. "Missy, don't you make a noise out there. You
can't have your own way always."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, don't talk like that. I am in such a fright about you.
Do come out and look at the mountains."

"I have seen the mountains often enough, and I am up to every trick of
them. There may be a corn or two of rain; no more. My sea-weed was like
tinder. There can't be no heavy storm when it is like that. Don't you
make pretense, missy, to know what is beyond you."

Uncle Sam was so seldom cross that I always felt that he had a right
to be so. And he gave me one of his noble smiles to make up for the
sharpness of his words, and then back he went to his work again. So I
hoped that I was altogether wrong, till a bolt of lightning, like a blue
dagger, fell at my very feet, and a crash of thunder shook the earth and
stunned me. These opened the sluice of the heavens, and before I could
call out I was drenched with rain. Clinging to a bush, I saw the valley
lashed with cloudy blasts, and a whirling mass of spiral darkness
rushing like a giant toward me. And the hissing and tossing and roaring
mixed whatever was in sight together.

Such terror fell upon me at first that I could not look, and could
scarcely think, but cowered beneath the blaze of lightning as a singed
moth drops and shivers. And a storm of wind struck me from my hold, so
that I fell upon the wet earth. Every moment I expected to be killed,
for I never could be brave in a thunder-storm, and had not been told
much in France of God's protection around me. And the darts of lightning
hissed and crossed like a blue and red web over me. So I laid hold of a
little bent of weed, and twisted it round my dabbled wrist, and tried to
pray to the Virgin, although I had often been told it was vanity.

Then suddenly wiping my eyes, I beheld a thing which entirely changed
me. A vast, broad wall of brown water, nearly as high as the mill
itself, rushed down with a crest of foam from the mountains. It seemed
to fill up all the valley and to swallow up all the trees; a whole host
of animals fled before it, and birds, like a volley of bullets, flew by.
I lost not a moment in running away, and climbing a rock and hiding.
It was base, ungrateful, and a nasty thing to do; but I did it almost
without thinking. And if I had staid to cry out, what good could I have
done--only to be swept away?

Now, as far as I can remember any thing out of so much horror, I must
have peeped over the summit of my rock when the head of the deluge
struck the mill. But whether I saw it, or whether I knew it by any more
summary process, such as outruns the eyes sometimes, is more than I dare
presume to say. Whichever way I learned it, it was thus:

A solid mass of water, much bigger than the mill itself, burst on it,
dashed it to atoms, leaped off with it, and spun away the great wheel
anyhow, like the hoop of a child sent trundling. I heard no scream or
shriek; and, indeed, the bellow of a lion would have been a mere whisper
in the wild roar of the elements. Only, where the mill had been, there
was nothing except a black streak and a boil in the deluge. Then scores
of torn-up trees swept over, as a bush-harrow jumps on the clods of the
field; and the unrelenting flood cast its wrath, and shone quietly in
the lightning.

"Oh, Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam!" I cried. But there was not a sign to be seen
of him; and I thought of his gentle, good, obstinate ways, and my heart
was almost broken. "What a brute--what a wretch I am!" I kept saying, as
if I could have helped it; and my fear of the lightning was gone, and I
stood and raved with scorn and amazement.

In this misery of confusion it was impossible to think, and instinct
alone could have driven my despair to a desperate venture. With my
soaked clothes sticking between my legs, I ran as hard as they would go,
by a short-cut over a field of corn, to a spot where the very last bluff
or headland jutted into the river. This was a good mile below the mill
according to the bends of channel, but only a furlong or so from the
rock upon which I had taken refuge. However, the flood was there before
me, and the wall of water dashed on to the plains, with a brindled comb
behind it.

Behind it also came all the ruin of the mill that had any floatage, and
bodies of bears and great hogs and cattle, some of them alive, but the
most part dead. A grand black bull tossed back his horns, and looked at
me beseechingly: he had frightened me often in quiet days, but now I was
truly grieved for him. And then on a wattle of brush-wood I saw the form
of a man--the Sawyer.

His white hair draggled in the wild brown flood, and the hollow of
his arms was heaped with froth, and his knotted legs hung helpless.
Senseless he lay on his back, and sometimes the wash of the waves went
over him. His face was livid, but his brave eyes open, and a heavy
weight hung round his neck. I had no time to think, and deserve no
praise, for I knew not what I did. But just as an eddy swept him near
me, I made a desperate leap at him, and clutched at something that tore
my hands, and then I went under the water. My senses, however, were
not yet gone, and my weight on the wattle stopped it, and I came up
gurgling, and flung one arm round a fat, woolly sheep going by me. The
sheep was water-logged, and could scarcely keep his own poor head from
drowning, and he turned his mild eyes and looked at me, but I could not
spare him. He struck for the shore in forlorn hope, and he towed us in
some little.

It is no good for me to pretend to say how things were managed for us,
for of course I could do nothing. But the sheep must have piloted us to
a tree, whose branches swept the torrent. Here I let him go, and caught
fast hold; and Uncle Sam's raft must have stuck there also, for what
could my weak arm have done? I remember only to have felt the ground at
last, as the flood was exhausted; and good people came and found him and
me, stretched side by side, upon rubbish and mud.



CHAPTER X

A NUGGET


In a sacred corner (as soon as ever we could attend to any thing) we
hung up the leathern bag of tools, which had done much more toward
saving the life of Uncle Sam than I did; for this had served as a kind
of kedge, or drag, upon his little craft, retarding it from the great
roll of billows, in which he must have been drowned outright. And even
as it was, he took some days before he was like himself again.

Firm, who had been at the head of the valley, repairing some broken
hurdles, declared that a water-spout had burst in the bosom of the
mountain gorge where the Blue River has its origin, and the whole of its
power got ponded back by a dam, which the Sawyer himself had made, at
about five furlongs above the mill. Ephraim, being further up the gulch,
and high above the roaring flood, did his utmost with the keen edge of
his eyes to pierce into the mischief; but it rained so hard, and at the
same time blew so violently around him, that he could see nothing of
what went on, but hoped for the best, with uneasiness.

Now when the Sawyer came round so well as to have a clear mind of
things, and learn that his mill was gone and his business lost, and
himself, at this ripe time of life, almost driven to begin the world
again, it was natural to expect that he ought to indulge in a good deal
of grumbling. Many people came to comfort him, and to offer him deep
condolence and the truest of true sympathy, and every thing that could
be thought of, unless it were a loan of money. Of that they never
thought, because it was such a trifling matter; and they all had
confidence in his power to do any thing but pay them. They told him that
he was a young man still, and Providence watched over him; in a year or
two he would be all the better for this sad visitation. And he said yes
to their excellent advice, and was very much obliged to them. At the
same time it was clear to me, who watched him like a daughter, that he
became heavy in his mind, and sighed, as these kind friends, one after
the other, enjoyed what he still could do for them, but rode away out of
his gate with too much delicacy to draw purse-strings. Not that he would
have accepted a loan from the heartiest heart of all of them, only that
he would have liked the offer, to understand their meaning. And several
of them were men--as Firm, in his young indignation, told me--who had
been altogether set up in life by the kindness of Sampson Gundry.

Perhaps the Sawyer, after all his years, had no right to be vexed by
this. But whether he was right or wrong, I am sure that it preyed upon
his mind, though he was too proud to speak of it. He knew that he was
not ruined, although these friends assumed that he must be; and some of
them were quite angry with him because they had vainly warned him. He
could not remember these warnings, yet he contradicted none of them; and
fully believing in the goodness of the world, he became convinced that
he must have been hard in the days of his prosperity.

No sooner was he able to get about again than he went to San Francisco
to raise money on his house and property for the rebuilding of the mill.
Firm rode with him to escort him back, and so did Martin, the foreman;
for although the times were not so bad as they used to be some ten years
back, in the height of the gold fever, it still was a highly undesirable
thing for a man who was known to have money about him to ride forth
alone from San Francisco, or even Sacramento town. And having mentioned
the foreman Martin, in justice to him I ought to say that although his
entire loss from the disaster amounted only to a worn-out waistcoat of
the value of about twenty cents, his vehemence in grumbling could only
be equaled by his lofty persistence. By his great activity in running
away and leaving his employer to meet the brunt, he had saved not only
himself, but his wife and children and goods and chattels. This failed,
however, to remove or even assuage his regret for the waistcoat; and he
moaned and threatened to such good purpose that a speedy subscription
was raised, which must have found him in clothes for the rest of his
life, as well as a silver tea-pot with an inscription about his bravery.

When the three were gone, after strict injunctions from Mr. Gundry, and
his grandson too, that I was on no account to venture beyond calling
distance from the house, for fear of being run away with, I found the
place so sad and lonesome that I scarcely knew what to do. I had no fear
of robbers, though there were plenty in the neighborhood; for we still
had three or four men about, who could be thoroughly trusted, and
who staid with us on half wages rather than abandon the Sawyer in his
trouble. Suan Isco, also, was as brave as any man, and could shoot well
with a rifle. Moreover, the great dog Jowler was known and dreaded by
all his enemies. He could pull down an Indian, or two half-castes, or
three Mexicans, in about a second; and now he always went about with me,
having formed a sacred friendship.

Uncle Sam had kissed me very warmly when he said "good-by," and Firm had
shown some disposition to follow his example; but much as I liked and
admired Firm, I had my own ideas as to what was unbecoming, and now
in my lonely little walks I began to think about it. My father's
resting-place had not been invaded by the imperious flood, although a
line of driftage, in a zigzag swath, lay near the mound. This was my
favorite spot for thinking, when I felt perplexed and downcast in my
young unaided mind. For although I have not spoken of my musings very
copiously, any one would do me wrong who fancied that I was indifferent.
Through the great kindness of Mr. Gundry and other good friends around
me, I had no bitter sense as yet of my own dependence and poverty. But
the vile thing I had heard about my father, the horrible slander
and wicked falsehood--for such I was certain it must be--this was
continually in my thoughts, and quite destroyed my cheerfulness. And
the worst of it was that I never could get my host to enter into it.
Whenever I began, his face would change and his manner grow constrained,
and his chief desire always seemed to lead me to some other subject.

One day, when the heat of the summer came forth, and the peaches began
to blush toward it, and bronze-ribbed figs grew damask-gray with a
globule of sirup in their eyes, and melons and pumpkins already had
curved their fluted stalks with heaviness, and the dust of the plains
was beginning to fly, and the bright spring flowers were dead more
swiftly even than they first were born, I sat with Suan Isco at my
father's cross, and told her to make me cry with some of all the many
sad things she knew. She knew a wondrous number of things insatiably sad
and wild; and the quiet way in which she told them (not only without any
horror, but as if they were rightly to be expected), also the deep and
rather guttural tone of voice, and the stillness of the form, made it
impossible to help believing verily every word she said.

That there should be in the world such things, so dark, unjust, and
full of woe, was enough to puzzle a child brought up among the noblest
philosophers; whereas I had simply been educated by good unpretentious
women, who had partly retired from the world, but not to such a depth as
to drown all thought of what was left behind them. These were ready at
any time to return upon good opportunity; and some of them had done so,
with many tears, when they came into property.

"Please to tell me no more now," I said at last to Suan; "my eyes are
so sore they will be quite red, and perhaps Uncle Sam will come home
to-night. I am afraid he has found some trouble with the money, or he
ought to have been at home before. Don't you think so, Suan?"

"Yes, yes; trouble with the money. Always with the white mans that."

"Very well. I shall go and look for some money. I had a most wonderful
dream last night. Only I must go quite alone. You had better go and look
to the larder, Suan. If they come, they are sure to be hungry."

"Yes, yes; the white mans always hungry, sep when thirsty."

The Indian woman, who had in her heart a general contempt for the white
race, save those of our own household, drew her bright-colored shawl
around her, and set off with her peculiar walk. Her walk was not
ungraceful, because it was so purely natural; but it differed almost as
much as the step of a quadruped from what we are taught. I, with heavy
thoughts but careless steps, set off on my wanderings. I wanted to try
to have no set purpose, course, or consideration, but to go wherever
chance should lead me, without choice, as in my dream. And after many
vague turns, and even closings of rebellious eyes, I found myself,
perhaps by the force of habit, at the ruins of the mill.

I seemed to recognize some resemblance (which is as much as one can
expect) to the scene which had been in my sleep before me. But sleeping
I had seen roaring torrents; waking, I beheld a quiet stream. The little
river, as blue as ever, and shrinking from all thoughts of wrath, showed
nothing in its pure gaze now but a gladness to refresh and cool. In many
nicely sheltered corners it was full of soft reflection as to the good
it had to do; and then, in silver and golden runnels, on it went to do
it. And the happy voice and many sweetly flashing little glances told
that it knew of the lovely lives beside it, created and comforted by
itself.

But I looked at the dark ruin it had wrought, and like a child I was
angry with it for the sake of Uncle Sam. Only the foundations and the
big heavy stones of the mill were left, and the clear bright water
purled around, or made little eddies among them. All were touched
with silvery sound, and soft caressing dimples. But I looked at the
passionate mountains first, to be sure of no more violence; for if a
burned child dreads the fire, one half drowned may be excused for little
faith in water. The mountains in the sunshine looked as if nothing could
move their grandeur, and so I stepped from stone to stone, in the bed of
the placid brightness.

Presently I came to a place where one of the great black piles, driven
in by order of the Sawyer, to serve as a back-stay for his walls, had
been swept by the flood from its vertical sinking, but had not been
swept away. The square tarred post of mountain pine reclined down
stream, and gently nodded to the current's impact. But overthrown as it
was, it could not make its exit and float away, as all its brethren
had done. At this I had wondered before, and now I went to see what the
reason was. By throwing a short piece of plank from one of the shattered
foundations into a nick in the shoulder of the reclining pile, I managed
to get there and sit upon it, and search for its obstruction.

The water was flowing smoothly toward me, and as clear as crystal, being
scarcely more than a foot in depth. And there, on the upper verge of the
hole, raised by the leverage of the butt from the granite sand of the
river-bed, I saw a great bowlder of rich yellow light. I was so much
amazed that I cried out at once, "Oh! what a beautiful great yellow
fish!" And I shouted to Jowler, who had found where I was, and followed
me, as usual. The great dog was famous for his love of fishing, and had
often brought a fine salmon forth.

Jowler was always a zealous fellow, and he answered eagerly to my call
by dashing at once into the water, and following the guidance of my
hand. But when he saw what I pointed at, he was bitterly disappointed,
and gave me to understand as much by looking at me foolishly. "Now don't
be a stupid dog," I said; "do what I tell you immediately. Whatever it
is, bring it out, Sir."

Jowler knew that I would be obeyed whenever I called him "Sir;" so he
ducked his great head under the water, and tugged with his teeth at the
object. His back corded up, and his tail grew rigid with the intensity
of his labor, but the task was quite beyond him. He could not even
stir the mighty mass at which he struggled, but he bit off a little
projecting corner, and came to me with it in his mouth. Then he laid his
dripping jaws on my lap, and his ears fell back, and his tail hung down
with utter sense of failure.

I patted his broad intelligent forehead, and wiped his black eyes with
his ears, and took from his lips what he offered to me. Then I saw
that his grinders were framed with gold, as if he had been to a dentist
regardless of expense, and into my hand he dropped a lump of solid
glittering virgin ore. He had not the smallest idea of having done any
thing worthy of human applause; and he put out his long red tongue and
licked his teeth to get rid of uneatable dross, and gave me a quiet
nudge to ask what more I wanted of him.



CHAPTER XI

ROVERS


From Jowler I wanted nothing more. Such matters were too grand for
him. He had beaten the dog of Hercules, who had only brought the purple
dye--a thing requiring skill and art and taste to give it value. But
gold does well without all these, and better in their absence. From
handling many little nuggets, and hearkening to Suan Isco's tales of
treachery, theft, and murder done by white men for the sake of this, I
knew that here I had found enough to cost the lives of fifty men.

At present, however, I was not possessed with dread so much as I was
with joy, and even a secret exultation, at the power placed in my hands.
For I was too young to moralize or attempt philosophy. Here I had a
knowledge which the wisest of mankind might envy, much as they despise
it when they have no chance of getting it. I looked at my father's
grave, in the shadow of the quiet peach-trees, and I could not help
crying as I thought that this was come too late for him. Then I called
off Jowler, who wished (like a man) to have another tug at it; and home
I ran to tell my news, but failing of breath, had time to think.

It was lucky enough that this was so, for there might have been the
greatest mischief; and sadly excited as I was, the trouble I had seen
so much of came back to my beating heart and told me to be careful. But
surely there could be no harm in trusting Suan Isco. However, I looked
at her several times, and was not quite so sure about it. She was
wonderfully true and faithful, and scarcely seemed to concede to gold
its paramount rank and influence. But that might only have been because
she had never known the want of it, or had never seen a lump worth
stealing, which I was sure that this must be; and the unregenerate
state of all who have never been baptized had been impressed on me
continually. How could I mistrust a Christian, and place confidence in
an Indian? Therefore I tried to sleep without telling any one, but was
unable.

But, as it happened, my good discovery did not keep me so very long
awake, for on the following day our troop of horsemen returned from
San Francisco. Of course I have done very foolish things once and again
throughout my life, but perhaps I never did any thing more absurd than
during the whole of that day. To begin with, I was up before the
sun, and down at the mill, and along the plank, which I had removed
overnight, but now replaced as my bridge to the pine-wood pile. Then
I gazed with eager desire and fear--which was the stronger I scarcely
knew--for the yellow under-gleam, to show the safety of my treasure.
There it lay, as safe as could be, massive, grand, and beautiful, with
tones of varying richness as the ripples varied over it. The pale light
of the morning breathed a dewy lustre down the banks; the sun (although
unrisen yet) drew furrows through the mountain gaps; the birds from
every hanging tree addressed the day with melody; the crystal water,
purer than religion's brightest dream, went by; and here among them lay,
unmoved, unthought of, and inanimate, the thing which to a human being
is worth all the rest put together.

This contemplation had upon me an effect so noble that here I resolved
to spend my time, for fear of any robbery. I was afraid to gaze more
than could be helped at this grand sight, lest other eyes should spy
what was going on, and long to share it. And after hurrying home to
breakfast and returning in like haste, I got a scare, such as I well
deserved, for being so extremely foolish.

The carpentry of the mill-wheel had proved so very stanch and steadfast
that even in that raging deluge the whole had held together. It had been
bodily torn from its hold and swept away down the valley; but somewhere
it grounded, as the flood ebbed out, and a strong team had tugged it
back again. And the Sawyer had vowed that, come what would, his mill
should work with the self-same wheel which he with younger hands had
wrought. Now this wheel (to prevent any warp, and save the dry timber
from the sun) was laid in a little shady cut, where water trickled under
it. And here I had taken up my abode to watch my monster nugget.

I had pulled my shoes and stockings off, and was paddling in the runnel,
sheltered by the deep rim of the wheel, and enjoying the water. Little
fish darted by me, and lovely spotted lizards played about, and I was
almost beginning even to forget my rock of gold. In self-defense it is
right to say that for the gold, on my own account, I cared as much as I
might have done for a fig worm-eaten. It was for Uncle Sam, and all
his dear love, that I watched the gold, hoping in his sad disaster to
restore his fortunes. But suddenly over the rim of the wheel (laid
flat in the tributary brook) I descried across the main river a moving
company of horsemen.

These men could have nothing to do with Uncle Sam and his party, for
they were coming from the mountain-side, while he would return by the
track across the plains. And they were already so near that I could see
their dress quite plainly, and knew them to be Mexican rovers, mixed
with loose Americans. There are few worse men on the face of the earth
than these, when in the humor, and unluckily they seem almost always
to be in that humor. Therefore, when I saw their battered sun-hats and
baggy slouching boots, I feared that little ruth, or truth, or mercy
dwelt between them.

On this account I shrank behind the shelter of the mill-wheel, and held
my head in one trembling hand, and with the other drew my wind-tossed
hair into small compass. For my blood ran cold at the many dreadful
things that came into my mind. I was sure that they had not spied me
yet, and my overwhelming desire was to decline all introduction.

I counted fourteen gentlemen, for so they always styled themselves, and
would pistol any man who expressed a contrary opinion. Fourteen of them
rode to the brink of the quiet blue river on the other side; and there
they let their horses drink, and some dismounted and filled canteens,
and some of longer reach stooped from the saddle and did likewise. But
one, who seemed to be the captain, wanted no water for his rum.

"Cut it short, boys," I heard him say, with a fine South Californian
twang (which, as well as his free swearing, I will freely omit). "If we
mean to have fair play with the gal, now or never's the time for it: old
Sam may come home almost any time."

What miserable cowards! Though there were so many of them, they really
had no heart to face an old man known for courage. Frightened as I was,
perhaps good indignation helped me to flutter no more, and not faint
away, but watch those miscreants steadily.

The horses put down their sandy lips over and over again to drink,
scarcely knowing when they ought to stop, and seemed to get thicker
before my eyes. The dribbling of the water from their mouths prepared
them to begin again, till the riders struck the savage unroweled spur
into their refreshment. At this they jerked their noses up, and looked
at one another to say that they expected it, and then they lifted their
weary legs and began to plash through the river.

It is a pretty thing to see a skillful horse plod through a stream,
probing with his eyes the depth, and stretching his head before his
feet, and at every step he whisks his tail to tell himself that he is
right. In my agony of observation all these things I heeded, but only
knew that I had done so when I thought long afterward. At the moment I
was in such a fright that my eyes worked better than my mind. However,
even so, I thought of my golden millstone, and was aware that they
crossed below, and could not see it.

They gained the bank upon our side within fifty yards of where I
crouched; and it was not presence of mind, but abject fear, which kept
me crouching. I counted them again as they leaped the bank and seemed to
look at me. I could see the dark array of eyes, and could scarcely
keep from shrieking. But my throat was dry and made no sound, and a
frightened bird set up a scream, which drew off their attention.

In perils of later days I often thought of this fear, and almost felt
that the hand of Heaven had been stretched forth on purpose to help my
helplessness.

For the moment, however, I lay as close as if under the hand of the evil
one; and the snorting of the horses passed me, and wicked laughter of
the men. One was telling a horrible tale, and the rest rejoicing in it;
and the bright sun, glowing on their withered skin, discovered perhaps
no viler thing in all the world to shine upon. One of them even pointed
at my mill-wheel with a witty gibe--at least, perhaps, it was wit to
him--about the Sawyer's misfortune; but the sun was then in his eyes,
and my dress was just of the color of the timber. So on they rode, and
the pleasant turf (having lately received some rain) softly answered to
the kneading of their hoofs as they galloped away to surround the house.

I was just at the very point of rising and running up into the dark of
the valley, when a stroke of arithmetic stopped me. Fourteen men and
fourteen horses I had counted on the other side; on this side I could
not make any more than thirteen of them. I might have made a mistake;
but still I thought I would stop just a minute to see. And in that
minute I saw the other man walking slowly on the opposite bank. He had
tethered his horse, and was left as outpost to watch and give warning of
poor Uncle Sam's return.

At the thought of this, my frightened courage, in some extraordinary
way, came back. I had played an ignoble part thus far, as almost any
girl might have done. But now I resolved that, whatever might happen,
my dear friend and guardian should not be entrapped and lose his life
through my cowardice. We had been expecting him all the day; and if he
should come and fall into an ambush, I only might survive to tell
the tale. I ought to have hurried and warned the house, as my bitter
conscience told me; but now it was much too late for that. The only
amends that I could make was to try and warn our travelers.

Stooping as low as I could, and watching my time to cross the more open
places when the sentry was looking away from me, I passed up the winding
of the little watercourse, and sheltered in the swampy thicket which
concealed its origin. Hence I could see for miles over the plain--broad
reaches of corn land already turning pale, mazy river fringed with reed,
hamlets scattered among clustering trees, and that which I chiefly cared
to see, the dusty track from Sacramento.

Whether from ignorance of the country or of Mr. Gundry's plans, the
sentinel had been posted badly. His beat commanded well enough the
course from San Francisco; but that from Sacramento was not equally
clear before him. For a jut of pine forest ran down from the mountains
and cut off a part of his view of it. I had not the sense or the
presence of mind to perceive this great advantage, but having a plain,
quick path before me, forth I set upon it. Of course if the watchman had
seen me, he would have leaped on his horse and soon caught me; but of
that I scarcely even thought, I was in such confusion.

When I had run perhaps a mile (being at that time very slight, and
of active figure), I saw a cloud of dust, about two miles off, rising
through the bright blue haze. It was rich yellow dust of the fertile
soil, which never seems to cake or clot. Sometimes you may walk for
miles without the smallest fear of sinking, the earth is so elastic. And
yet with a slight exertion you may push a walking-stick down through it
until the handle stops it. My heart gave a jump: that cloud of dust was
a sign of men on horseback. And who could it be but Uncle Sam and Firm
and the foreman Martin?

As soon as it began to show itself, it proved to be these very three,
carelessly lounging on their horses' backs, overcome with heat and dust
and thirst. But when they saw me there all alone under the fury of the
sun, they knew that something must have gone amiss, and were all wide
awake in a moment.

"Well, now," said the Sawyer, when I had told my tale as well as short
breath allowed, "put this thing over your head, my dear, or you may gain
a sun-stroke. I call it too bad of them skunks to drive you in Californy
noon, like this."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, never think of me; think of your house and your goods
and Suan, and all at those bad men's mercy!"

"The old house ain't afire yet," he answered, looking calmly under his
hand in that direction. "And as for Suan, no fear at all. She knows
how to deal with such gallowses; and they will keep her to cook their
dinner. Firm, my lad, let us go and embrace them. They wouldn't 'a made
much bones of shooting us down if we hadn't known of it, and if they had
got miss afore the saddle. But if they don't give bail, as soon as they
see me ride up to my door, my name's not Sampson Gundry. Only you keep
out of the way, Miss Remy. You go to sleep a bit, that's a dear, in the
graywitch spinny yonder, and wait till you hear Firm sound the horn. And
then come you in to dinner-time; for the Lord is always over you."

I hastened to the place which he pointed out--a beautiful covert of
birch-trees--but to sleep was out of the question, worn out though I
was with haste and heat, and (worst of all) with horror. In a soft mossy
nest, where a breeze from the mountains played with the in and out ways
of the wood, and the murmurous dream of genial insects now was beginning
to drowse upon the air, and the heat of the sun could almost be seen
thrilling through the alleys like a cicale's drum--here, in the middle
of the languid peace, I waited for the terror of the rifle-crack.

For though Uncle Sam had spoken softly, and made so little of the peril
he would meet, I had seen in his eyes some token of the deep wrath and
strong indignation which had kept all his household and premises safe.
And it seemed a most ominous sign that Firm had never said a word, but
grasped his gun, and slowly got in front of his grandfather.



CHAPTER XII

GOLD AND GRIEF


It may have been an hour, but it seemed an age, ere the sound of the
horn, in Firm's strong blast, released me from my hiding-place. I had
heard no report of fire-arms, nor perceived any sign of conflict; and
certainly the house was not on fire, or else I must have seen the smoke.
For being still in great alarm, I had kept a very sharp lookout.

Ephraim Gundry came to meet me, which was very kind of him. He carried
his bugle in his belt, that he might sound again for me, if needful.
But I was already running toward the house, having made up my mind to
be resolute. Nevertheless, I was highly pleased to have his company, and
hear what had been done.

"Please to let me help you," he said, with a smile. "Why, miss, you are
trembling dreadfully. I assure you there is no cause for that."

"But you might have been killed, and Uncle Sam, and Martin, and every
body. Oh, those men did look so horrible!"

"Yes, they always do till you come to know them. But bigger cowards were
never born. If they can take people by surprise, and shoot them
without any danger, it is a splendid treat to them. But if any one like
grandfather meets them face to face in the daylight, their respect
for law and life returns. It is not the first visit they have paid us.
Grandfather kept his temper well. It was lucky for them that he did."

Remembering that the Rovers must have numbered nearly three to one, even
if all our men were stanch, I thought it lucky for ourselves that
there had been no outbreak. But Firm seemed rather sorry that they had
departed so easily. And knowing that he never bragged, I began to share
his confidence.

"They must be shot, sooner or later," he said, "unless, indeed, they
should be hanged. Their manner of going on is out of date in these days
of settlement. It was all very well ten years ago. But now we are a
civilized State, and the hand of law is over us. I think we were wrong
to let them go. But of course I yield to the governor. And I think he
was afraid for your sake. And to tell the truth, I may have been the
same."

Here he gave my arm a little squeeze, which appeared to me quite out of
place; therefore I withdrew and hurried on. Before he could catch me I
entered the door, and found the Sawyer sitting calmly with his own long
pipe once more, and watching Suan cooking.

"They rogues have had all the best of our victuals," he said, as soon
as he had kissed me. "Respectable visitors is my delight, and welcome
to all of the larder; but at my time of life it goes agin the grain
to lease out my dinner to galley-rakers. Suan, you are burning the fat
again."

Suan Isco, being an excellent cook (although of quiet temper), never
paid heed to criticism, but lifted her elbow and went on. Mr. Gundry
knew that it was wise to offer no further meddling, although it is well
to keep them up to their work by a little grumbling. But when I came to
see what broken bits were left for Suan to deal with, I only wondered
that he was not cross.

"Thank God for a better meal than I deserve," he said, when they all had
finished. "Suan, you are a treasure, as I tell you every day a'most. Now
if they have left us a bottle of wine, let us have it up. We be all in
the dumps. But that will never do, my lad."

He patted Firm on the shoulder, as if he were the younger man of the
two, and his grandson went down to the wreck of the cellar; while I,
who had tried to wait upon them in an eager, clumsy way, perceived that
something was gone amiss, something more serious and lasting than the
mischief made by the robber troop. Was it that his long ride had failed,
and not a friend could be found to help him?

When Martin and the rest were gone, after a single glass of wine, and
Ephraim had made excuse of something to be seen to, the Sawyer leaned
back in his chair, and his cheerful face was troubled. I filled his pipe
and lit it for him, and waited for him to speak, well knowing his simple
and outspoken heart. But he looked at me and thanked me kindly, and
seemed to be turning some grief in his mind.

"It ain't for the money," he said at last, talking more to himself than
to me; "the money might 'a been all very well and useful in a sort of
way. But the feelin'--the feelin' is the thing I look at, and it ought
to have been more hearty. Security! Charge on my land, indeed! And I can
run away, but my land must stop behind! What security did I ask of them?
'Tis enough a'most to make a rogue of me."

"Nothing could ever do that, Uncle Sam," I exclaimed, as I came and sat
close to him, while he looked at me bravely, and began to smile.

"Why, what was little missy thinking of?" he asked. "How solid she
looks! Why, I never see the like!"

"Then you ought to have seen it, Uncle Sam. You ought to have seen it
fifty times, with every body who loves you. And who can help loving you,
Uncle Sam?"

"Well, they say that I charged too much for lumber, a-cuttin' on the
cross, and the backstroke work. And it may 'a been so, when I took
agin a man. But to bring up all that, with the mill strown down, is a
cowardly thing, to my thinking. And to make no count of the beadin' I
threw in, whenever it were a straightforrard job, and the turpsy knots,
and the clogging of the teeth--'tis a bad bit to swallow, when the mill
is strown."

"But the mill shall not be strown, Uncle Sam. The mill shall be built
again. And I will find the money."

Mr. Gundry stared at me and shook his head. He could not bear to tell
me how poor I was, while I thought myself almost made of money. "Five
thousand dollars you have got put by for me," I continued, with great
importance. "Five thousand dollars from the sale and the insurance fund.
And five thousand dollars must be five-and-twenty thousand francs. Uncle
Sam, you shall have every farthing of it. And if that won't build the
mill again, I have got my mother's diamonds."

"Five thousand dollars!" cried the Sawyer, in amazement, opening his
great gray eyes at me. And then he remembered the tale which he had
told, to make me seem independent. "Oh yes, to be sure, my dear; now I
recollect. To be sure--to be sure--your own five thousand dollars. But
never will I touch one cent of your nice little fortune; no, not to save
my life. After all, I am not so gone in years but what I can build the
mill again myself. The Lord hath spared my hands and eyes, and gifted me
still with machinery. And Firm is a very handy lad, and can carry out a
job pretty fairly, with better brains to stand over him, although it has
not pleased the Lord to gift him with sense of machinery, like me. But
that is all for the best, no doubt. If Ephraim had too much of brains,
he might have contradicted me. And that I could never abide, God knows,
from any green young jackanapes."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, let me tell you something--something very important!"

"No, my dear, nothing more just now. It has done me good to have a
little talk, and scared the blue somethings out of me. But just go and
ask whatever is become of Firm. He was riled with them greasers. It was
all I could do to keep the boy out of a difficulty with them. And if
they camp any where nigh, it is like enough he may go hankerin' after
them. The grand march of intellect hathn't managed yet to march old
heads upon young shoulders. And Firm might happen to go outside the
law."

The thought of this frightened me not a little; for Firm, though mild
of speech, was very hot of spirit at any wrong, as I knew from tales of
Suan Isco, who had brought him up and made a glorious idol of him. And
now, when she could not say where he was, but only was sure that he must
be quite safe (in virtue of a charm from a great medicine man which she
had hung about him), it seemed to me, according to what I was used to,
that in these regions human life was held a great deal too lightly.

It was not for one moment that I cared about Firm, any more than is the
duty of a fellow-creature. He was a very good young man, and in his way
good-looking, educated also quite enough, and polite, and a very good
carver of a joint; and when I spoke, he nearly always listened. But of
course he was not to be compared as yet to his grandfather, the true
Sawyer.

When I ran back from Suan Isco, who was going on about her charm, and
the impossibility of any one being scalped who wore it, I found Mr.
Gundry in a genial mood. He never made himself uneasy about any trifles.
He always had a very pure and lofty faith in the ways of Providence, and
having lost his only son Elijah, he was sure that he never could lose
Firm. He had taken his glass of hot whiskey and water, which always made
him temperate; and if he felt any of his troubles deeply, he dwelt on
them now from a high point of view.

"I may 'a said a little too much, my dear, about the badness of
mankind," he observed, with his pipe lying comfortably on his breast;
"all sayings of that sort is apt to go too far. I ought to have made
more allowance for the times, which gets into a ticklish state, when a
old man is put about with them. Never you pay no heed whatever to any
harsh words I may have used. All that is a very bad thing for young
folk."

"But if they treated you badly, Uncle Sam, how can you think that they
treated you well?"

He took some time to consider this, because he was true in all his
thoughts; and then he turned off to something else.

"Why, the smashing of the mill may have been a mercy, although in
disguise to the present time of sight. It will send up the price of
scantlings, and we was getting on too fast with them. By the time we
have built up the mill again we shall have more orders than we know
how to do with. When I come to reckon of it, to me it appears to be the
reasonable thing to feel a lump of grief for the old mill, and then to
set to and build a stronger one. Yes, that must be about the right thing
to do. And we'll have all the neighbors in when we lay foundations."

"But what will be the good of it, Uncle Sam, when the new mill may at
any time be washed away again?"

"Never, at any time," he answered, very firmly, gazing through the door
as if he saw the vain endeavor. "That little game can easily be stopped,
for about fifty dollars, by opening down the bank toward the old track
of the river. The biggest waterspout that ever came down from the
mountains could never come anigh the mill, but go right down the valley.
It hath been in my mind to do it often, and now that I see the need, I
will. Firm and I will begin tomorrow."

"But where is all the money to come from, Uncle Sam? You said that all
your friends had refused to help you."

"Never mind, my dear. I will help myself. It won't be the first time,
perhaps, in my life."

"But supposing that I could help you, just some little? Supposing that I
had found the biggest lump of gold ever found in all California?"

Mr. Gundry ought to have looked surprised, and I was amazed that he
did not; but he took it as quietly as if I had told him that I had
just picked up a brass button of his; and I thought that he doubted my
knowledge, very likely, even as to what gold was.

"It is gold, Uncle Sam, every bit of it gold--here is a piece of it;
just look--and as large, I am sure, as this table. And it may be as
deep as this room, for all that one can judge to the contrary. Why, it
stopped the big pile from coming to the top, when even you went down the
river."

"Well, now, that explains a thing or two," said the Sawyer, smiling
peacefully, and beginning to think of another pipe, if preparation meant
any thing. "Two things have puzzled me about that stump, and, indeed,
I might say three things. Why did he take such a time to drive? and why
would he never stand up like a man? and why wouldn't he go away when he
ought to?"

"Because he had the best of all reasons, Uncle Sam. He was anchored
on his gold, as I have read in French, and he had a good right to be
crooked about it, and no power could get him away from it."

"Hush, my dear, hush! It is not at all good for young people to let
their minds run on so. But this gold looks very good indeed. Are you
sure that it is a fair sample, and that there is any more of it?"

"How can you be so dreadfully provoking, Uncle Sam, when I tell you that
I saw it with my own eyes? And there must be at least half a ton of it."

"Well, half a hundred-weight will be enough for me. And you shall have
all the rest, my dear--that is, if you will spare me a bit, Miss Remy.
It all belongs to you by discovery, according to the diggers' law. And
your eyes are so bright about it, miss, that the whole of your heart
must be running upon it."

"Then you think me as bad as the rest of the world! How I wish that I
had never seen it! It was only for you that I cared about it--for you,
for you; and I will never touch a scrap of it."

Mr. Gundry had only been trying me, perhaps. But I did not see it in
that light, and burst into a flood of childish tears, that he should
misunderstand me so. Gold had its usual end, in grief. Uncle Sam rose up
to soothe me and to beg my pardon, and to say that perhaps he was harsh
because of the treatment he had received from his friends. He took me in
his arms and kissed me; but before I could leave off sobbing, the crack
of a rifle rang through the house, and Suan Isco, with a wail, rushed
out.



CHAPTER XIII

THE SAWYER'S PRAYER


The darkness of young summer night was falling on earth and tree and
stream. Every thing looked of a different form and color from those of
an hour ago, and the rich bloom of shadow mixed with color, and cast
by snowy mountains, which have stored the purple adieu of the sun, was
filling the air with delicious calm. The Sawyer ran out with his shirt
sleeves shining, so that any sneaking foe might shoot him; but, with
the instinct of a settler, he had caught up his rifle. I stood beneath
a carob-tree, which had been planted near the porch, and flung fantastic
tassels down, like the ear-rings of a negress. And not having sense
enough to do good, I was only able to be frightened.

Listening intently, I heard the sound of skirring steps on the other
side of and some way down the river; and the peculiar tread, even thus
far off, was plainly Suan Isco's. And then in the stillness a weary and
heavy foot went toiling after it. Before I could follow, which I longed
to do, to learn at once the worst of it, I saw the figure of a man much
nearer, and even within twenty yards of me, gliding along without any
sound. Faint as the light was, I felt sure that it was not one of our
own men, and the barrel of a long gun upon his shoulder made a black
line among silver leaves. I longed to run forth and stop him, but my
courage was not prompt enough, and I shamefully shrank away behind
the trunk of the carob-tree. Like a sleuth, compact, and calm-hearted
villain, he went along without any breath of sound, stealing his escape
with skill, till a white bower-tent made a background for him, and he
leaped up and fell flat without a groan. The crack of a rifle came later
than his leap, and a curl of white smoke shone against a black rock,
and the Sawyer, in the distance, cried, "Well, now!" as he generally did
when satisfied.

So scared was I that I caught hold of a cluster of pods to steady me;
and then, without any more fear for myself, I ran to see whether it was
possible to help. But the poor man lay beyond earthly help; he was too
dead to palpitate. His life must have left him in the air, and he could
not even have felt his fall.

In violent terror, I burst into tears, and lifted his heavy head, and
strove to force his hot hands open, and did I know not what, without
thinking, laboring only to recall his life.

"Are you grieving for the skulk who has shot my Firm?" said a stern
voice quite unknown to me; and rising, I looked at the face of Mr.
Gundry, unlike the countenance of Uncle Sam. I tried to speak to him,
but was too frightened. The wrath of blood was in his face, and all his
kind desires were gone.

"Yes, like a girl, you are sorry for a man who has stained this earth,
till his only atonement is to stain it with his blood. Captain Pedro,
there you lie, shot, like a coward, through the back. I wish you were
alive to taste my boots. Murderer of men and filthy ravisher of women,
miscreant of God, how can I keep from trampling on you?"

It never had been in my dream that a good man could so entirely forget
himself. I wanted to think that it must be somebody else, and not our
Uncle Sam. But he looked toward the west, as all men do when their
spirits are full of death, and the wan light showed that his chin was
triple.

Whether it may have been right or wrong, I made all haste to get away.
The face of the dead man was quite a pleasant thing, compared with the
face of the old man living. He may not have meant it, and I hope he
never did, but beyond all controversy he looked barbarous for the
moment.

As I slipped away, to know the worst, there I saw him standing still,
longing to kick the vile man's corpse, but quieted by the great awe of
death. If the man had stirred, or breathed, or even moaned, the living
man would have lost all reverence in his fury. But the power of the
other world was greater than even revenge could trample on. He let it
lie there, and he stooped his head, and went away quite softly.

My little foolish heart was bitterly visited by a thing like this. The
Sawyer, though not of great human rank, was gifted with the largest
human nature that I had ever met with. And though it was impossible as
yet to think, a hollow depression, as at the loss of some great ideal,
came over me.

Returning wretchedly to the house, I met Suan Isco and two men bringing
the body of poor Firm. His head and both his arms hung down, and they
wanted somebody to lift them; and this I ran to do, although they called
out to me not to meddle. The body was carried in, and laid upon three
chairs, with a pillow at the head; and then a light was struck, and a
candle brought by somebody or other. And Suan Isco sat upon the floor,
and set up a miserable Indian dirge.

"Stow away that," cried Martin of the mill, for he was one of those two
men; "wait till the lad is dead, and then pipe up to your liking. I felt
him try to kick while we carried him along. He come forth on a arrand of
that sort, and he seem to 'a been disappointed. A very fine young chap
I call him, for to try to do it still, howsomever his mind might be
wandering. Missy, keep his head up."

I did as I was told, and watched poor Firm as if my own life hung upon
any sign of life in him. When I look back at these things, I think that
fright and grief and pity must have turned an excitable girl almost into
a real woman. But I had no sense of such things then.

"I tell you he ain't dead," cried Martin; "no more dead than I be. He
feels the young gal's hand below him, and I see him try to turn up his
eyes. He has taken a very bad knock, no doubt, and trouble about his
breathing. I seed a fellow scalped once, and shot through the heart;
but he came all round in about six months, and protected his head with a
document. Firm, now, don't you be a fool. I have had worse things in my
family."

Ephraim Gundry seemed to know that some one was upbraiding him. At
any rate, his white lips trembled with a weak desire to breathe, and a
little shadow of life appeared to flicker in his open eyes. And on my
sleeve, beneath his back, some hot bright blood came trickling.

"Keep him to that," said Martin, with some carpenter sort of surgery;
"less fear of the life when the blood begins to run. Don't move him,
missy; never mind your arm. It will be the saving of him."

I was not strong enough to hold him up, but Suan ran to help me; and
they told me afterward that I fell faint, and no doubt it must have been
so. But when the rest were gone, and had taken poor Firm to his straw
mattress, the cold night air must have flowed into the room, and that,
perhaps, revived me. I went to the bottom of the stairs and listened,
and then stole up to the landing, and heard Suan Isco, who had taken the
command, speaking cheerfully in her worst English. Then I hoped for the
best, and, without any knowledge, wandered forth into the open air.

Walking quite as in a dream this time (which I had vainly striven to do
when seeking for my nugget), I came to the bank of the gleaming river,
and saw the water just in time to stop from stepping into it. Careless
about this and every other thing for the moment, I threw myself on
the sod, and listened to the mournful melody of night. Sundry unknown
creatures, which by day keep timid silence, were sending timid sounds
into the darkness, holding quiet converse with themselves, or it, or one
another. And the silvery murmur of the wavelets soothed the twinkling
sleep of leaves.

I also, being worn and weary, and having a frock which improved with
washing, and was spoiled already by nursing Firm, was well content to
throw myself into a niche of river-bank and let all things flow past me.
But before any thing had found time to flow far, or the lullaby of night
had lulled me, there came to me a sadder sound than plaintive Nature can
produce without her Master's aid, the saddest sound in all creation--a
strong man's wail.

Child as I was--and, perhaps, all the more for that reason as knowing
so little of mankind--I might have been more frightened, but I could not
have been a bit more shocked, by the roaring of a lion. For I knew in
a moment whose voice it was, and that made it pierce me tenfold. It was
Uncle Sam, lamenting to himself, and to his God alone, the loss of his
last hope on earth. He could not dream that any other than his Maker
(and his Maker's works, if ever they have any sympathy) listened to
the wild outpourings of an aged but still very natural heart, which had
always been proud of controlling itself. I could see his great frame
through a willow-tree, with the sere grass and withered reeds around,
and the faint gleam of fugitive water beyond. He was kneeling toward his
shattered mill, having rolled his shirt sleeves back to pray, and his
white locks shone in the starlight; then, after trying several times, he
managed to pray a little. First (perhaps partly from habit), he said the
prayer of Our Lord pretty firmly, and then he went on to his own special
case, with a doubting whether he should mention it. But as he went on he
gathered courage, or received it from above, and was able to say what he
wanted.

"Almighty Father of the living and the dead, I have lived long, and
shall soon be dead, and my days have been full of trouble. But I never
had such trouble as this here before, and I don't think I ever shall get
over it. I have sinned every day of my life, and not thought of Thee,
but of victuals, and money, and stuff; and nobody knows, but myself and
Thou, all the little bad things inside of me. I cared a deal more to be
respectable and get on with my business than to be prepared for kingdom
come. And I have just been proud about the shooting of a villain, who
might 'a gone free and repented. There is nobody left to me in my old
age. Thou hast taken all of them. Wife, and son, and mill, and grandson,
and my brother who robbed me--the whole of it may have been for my good,
but I have got no good out of it. Show me the way for a little time, O
Lord, to make the best of it; and teach me to bear it like a man, and
not break down at this time of life. Thou knowest what is right. Please
to do it. Amen."



CHAPTER XIV

NOT FAR TO SEEK


In the present state of controversies most profoundly religious, the
Lord alone can decide (though thousands of men would hurry to pronounce)
for or against the orthodoxy of the ancient Sawyer's prayer. But if
sound doctrine can be established by success (as it always is), Uncle
Sam's theology must have been unusually sound; for it pleased a gracious
Power to know what he wanted, and to grant it.

Brave as Mr. Gundry was, and much-enduring and resigned, the latter
years of his life on earth must have dragged on very heavily, with
abstract resignation only, and none of his blood to care for him.
Being so obstinate a man, he might have never admitted this, but proved
against every one's voice, except his own, his special blessedness. But
this must have been a trial to him, and happily he was spared from it.

For although Firm had been very badly shot, and kept us for weeks in
anxiety about him, his strong young constitution and well-nourished
frame got over it. A truly good and learned doctor came from Sacramento,
and we hung upon his words, and found that there he left us hanging. And
this was the wisest thing perhaps that he could do, because in America
medical men are not absurdly expected, as they are in England, to do any
good, but are valued chiefly upon their power of predicting what they
can not help. And this man of science perceived that he might do harm to
himself and his family by predicting amiss, whereas he could do no good
to his patient by predicting rightly. And so he foretold both good and
evil, to meet the intentions of Providence.

He had not been sent for in vain, however; and to give him his due, he
saved Ephraim's life, for he drew from the wound a large bullet, which,
if left, must have poisoned all his circulation, although it was made
of pure silver. The Sawyer wished to keep this silver bullet as a token,
but the doctor said that it belonged to him according to miners' law;
and so it came to a moderate argument. Each was a thoroughly stubborn
man, according to the bent of all good men, and reasoning increased
their unreason. But the doctor won--as indeed he deserved, for the
extraction had been delicate--because, when reason had been exhausted,
he just said this:

"Colonel Gundry, let us have no more words. The true owner is your
grandson. I will put it back where I took it from."

Upon this, the Sawyer being tickled, as men very often are in sad
moments, took the doctor by the hand, and gave him the bullet heartily.
And the medical man had a loop made to it, and wore it upon his watch
chain. And he told the story so often (saying that another man perhaps
might have got it out, but no other man could have kept it), that among
a great race who judge by facts it doubled his practice immediately.

The leader of the robbers, known far and wide as "Captain Pedro," was
buried where he fell; and the whole so raised Uncle Sam's reputation
that his house was never attacked again; and if any bad characters were
forced by circumstances to come near him, they never asked for any thing
stronger than ginger-beer or lemonade, and departed very promptly. For
as soon as Ephraim Gundry could give account of his disaster, it was
clear that Don Pedro owed his fate to a bottle of the Sawyer's whiskey.
Firm had only intended to give him a lesson for misbehavior, being fired
by his grandfather's words about swinging me on the saddle. This idea
had justly appeared to him to demand a protest; to deliver which he at
once set forth with a valuable cowhide whip. Coming thus to the Rovers'
camp, and finding their captain sitting in the shade to digest his
dinner, Firm laid hold of him by the neck, and gave way to feelings of
severity. Don Pedro regretted his misconduct, and being lifted up for
the moment above his ordinary view, perceived that he might have done
better, and shaped the pattern of his tongue to it. Firm, hearing this,
had good hopes of him; yet knowing how volatile repentance is, he strove
to form a well-marked track for it. And when the captain ceased to
receive cowhide, he must have had it long enough to miss it.

Now this might have ended honorably and amicably for all concerned, if
the captain had known when he was well off. Unluckily he had purloined
a bottle of Mr. Gundry's whiskey, and he drew the cork now to rub his
stripes, and the smell of it moved him to try it inside. And before very
long his ideas of honor, which he had sense enough to drop when sober,
began to come into his eyes again, and to stir him up to mischief. Hence
it was that he followed Firm, who was riding home well satisfied, and
appeased his honor by shooting in cold blood, and justice by being shot
anyhow.

It was beautiful, through all this trying time, to watch Uncle Sam's
proceedings: he appeared so delightfully calm and almost careless
whenever he was looked at. And then he was ashamed of himself
perpetually, if any one went on with it. Nobody tried to observe him, of
course, or remark upon any of his doings, and for this he would become
so grateful that he would long to tell all his thoughts, and then stop.
This must have been a great worry to him, seeing how open his manner
was; and whenever he wanted to hide any thing, he informed us of that
intention. So that we exhorted Firm every day to come round and restore
us to our usual state. This was the poor fellow's special desire;
and often he was angry with himself, and made himself worse again by
declaring that he must be a milksop to lie there so long. Whereas, it
was much more near the truth that few other men, even in the Western
States, would ever have got over such a wound. I am not learned enough
to say exactly where the damage was, but the doctor called it, I think,
the sternum, and pronounced that "a building-up process" was required,
and must take a long time, if it ever could be done.

It was done at last, thanks to Suan Isco, who scarcely ever left him
by day or night, and treated him skillfully with healing herbs. But he,
without meaning it, vexed her often by calling for me--a mere ignorant
child. Suan was dreadfully jealous of this, and perhaps I was proud of
that sentiment of hers, and tried to justify it, instead of laboring
to remove it, as would have been the more proper course. And Firm most
ungratefully said that my hand was lighter than poor Suan's, and every
thing I did was better done, according to him, which was shameful on his
part, and as untrue as any thing could be. However, we yielded to him
in all things while he was so delicate; and it often made us poor weak
things cry to be the masters of a tall strong man.

Firm Gundry received that shot in May, about ten days before the
twelvemonth was completed from my father's death. The brightness of
summer and beauty of autumn went by without his feeling them, and while
his system was working hard to fortify itself by walling up, as the
learned man had called it. There had been some difficulties in this
process, caused partly, perhaps, by our too lavish supply of the raw
material; and before Firm's gap in his "sternum" was stopped, the
mountains were coming down upon us, as we always used to say when the
snow-line stooped. In some seasons this is a sharp time of hurry, broken
with storms, and capricious, while men have to slur in the driving
weather tasks that should have been matured long since. But in other
years the long descent into the depth of winter is taken not with a
jump like that, but gently and softly and windingly, with a great many
glimpses back at the summer, and a good deal of leaning on the arm of
the sun.

And so it was this time. The autumn and the winter for a fortnight stood
looking quietly at each other. They had quite agreed to share the hours,
to suit the arrangements of the sun. The nights were starry and fresh
and brisk, without any touch of tartness; and the days were sunny
and soft and gentle, without any sense of languor. It was a lovely
scene--blue shadows gliding among golden light.

The Sawyer came forth, and cried, "What a shame! This makes me feel
quite young again. And yet I have done not a stroke of work. No excuse;
make no excuse. I can do that pretty well for myself. Praise God for all
His mercies. I might do worse, perhaps, than have a pipe."

Then Firm came out to surprise him, and to please us all with the sight
of himself. He steadied his steps with one great white hand upon his
grandfather's Sunday staff, and his clear blue eyes were trembling with
a sense of gratitude and a fear of tears. And I stepped behind a red
strawberry-tree, for my sense of respect for him almost made me sob.

Then Jowler thought it high time to appear upon the scene, and convince
us that he was not a dead dog yet. He had known tribulation, as his
master had, and had found it a difficult thing to keep from the shadowy
hunting ground of dogs who have lived a conscientious life. I had
wondered at first what his reason could have been for not coming
forward, according to his custom, to meet that troop of robbers. But
his reason, alas! was too cogent to himself, though nobody else in that
dreadful time could pay any attention to him. The Rovers, well knowing
poor Jowler's repute, and declining the fair mode of testing it, had
sent in advance a very crafty scout, a half-bred Indian, who knew as
much about dogs as they could ever hope to know about themselves. This
rogue approached faithful Jowler--so we were told long afterward--not in
an upright way, but as if he had been a brother quadruped. And he took
advantage of the dog's unfeigned surprise and interest to accost him
with a piece of kidney containing a powerful poison. According to
all sound analogy, this should have stopped the dear fellow's earthly
tracks; but his spirit was such that he simply went away to nurse
himself up in retirement. Neither man nor dog can tell what agonies he
suffered; and doubtless his tortures of mind about duty unperformed were
the worst of all. These things are out of human knowledge in its present
unsympathetic state. Enough that poor Jowler came home at last, with his
ribs all up and his tail very low.

Like friends who have come together again, almost from the jaws of
death, we sat in the sunny noon, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The
trees above us looked proud and cheerful, laying aside the mere frippery
of leaves with a good grace and contented arms, and a surety of having
quite enough next spring. Much of the fruity wealth of autumn still
was clustering in our sight, heavily fetching the arched bough down to
lessen the fall, when fall they must. And against the golden leaves of
maple behind the unpretending roof a special wreath of blue shone like a
climbing Ipomaea. But coming to examine this, one found it to be nothing
more nor less than the smoke of the kitchen chimney, busy with a quiet
roasting job.

This shows how clear the air was; but a thousand times as much could
never tell how clear our spirits were. Nobody made any "demonstration,"
or cut any frolicsome capers, or even said any thing exuberant. The
steadfast brooding breed of England, which despises antics, was present
in us all, and strengthened by a soil whose native growth is peril,
chance, and marvel. And so we nodded at one another, and I ran over and
courtesied to Uncle Sam, and he took me to him.

"You have been a dear good child," he said, as he rose, and looked over
my head at Firm. "My own granddarter, if such there had been, could not
have done more to comfort me, nor half so much, for aught I know. There
is no picking and choosing among the females, as God gives them. But he
has given you for a blessing and saving to my old age, my dearie."

"Oh, Uncle Sam, now the nugget!" I cried, desiring like a child to
escape deep feeling, and fearing any strong words from Firm. "You have
promised me ever so long that I should be the first to show Firm the
nugget."

"And so you shall, my dear, and Firm shall see it before he is an hour
older, and Jowler shall come down to show us where it is."

Firm, who had little faith in the nugget, but took it for a dream of
mine, and had proved conclusively from his pillow that it could not
exist in earnest, now with a gentle, satirical smile declared his
anxiety to see it; and I led him along by his better arm, faster,
perhaps, than he ought to have walked.

In a very few minutes we were at the place, and I ran eagerly to point
it; but behold, where the nugget had been, there was nothing except the
white bed of the river! The blue water flowed very softly on its way,
without a gleam of gold to corrupt it.

"Oh, nobody will ever believe me again!" I exclaimed, in the saddest
of sad dismay. "I dreamed about it first, but it never can have been
a dream throughout. You know that I told you about it, Uncle Sam, even
when you were very busy, and that shows that it never could have been a
dream."

"You told me about it, I remember now," Mr. Gundry answered, dryly; "but
it does not follow that there was such a thing. My dear, you may have
imagined it; because it was the proper time for it to come, when my good
friends had no money to lend. Your heart was so good that it got into
your brain, and you must not be vexed, my dear child; it has done you
good to dream of it."

"I said so all along," Firm observed. "Miss Rema felt that it ought to
be, and so she believed that it must be, there. She is always so warm
and trustful."

"Is that all you are good for?" I cried, with no gratitude for his
compliment. "As sure as I stand here, I saw a great bowlder of gold, and
so did Jowler, and I gave you the piece that he brought up. Did you take
them all in a dream, Uncle Sam? Come, can you get over that?"

I assure you that for the moment I knew not whether I stood upon my feet
or head, until I perceived an extraordinary grin on the Sawyer's ample
countenance; but Firm was not in the secret yet, for he gazed at me with
compassion, and Uncle Sam looked at us both as if he were balancing our
abilities.

"Send your dog in, missy," at last he said. "He is more your dog than
mine, I believe, and he obeys you like a Christian. Let him go and find
it if he can."

At a sign from me, the great dog dashed in, and scratched with all four
feet at once, and made the valley echo with the ring of mighty barkings;
and in less than two minutes there shone the nugget, as yellow and as
big as ever.

"Ha! ha! I never saw a finer thing," shouted Uncle Sam, like a
school-boy. "I were too many for you, missy dear; but the old dog
wollops the whole of us. I just shot a barrow-load of gravel on your
nugget, to keep it all snug till Firm should come round; and if the boy
had never come round, there the gold might have waited the will of the
Almighty. It is a big spot, anyhow."

It certainly was not a little spot, though they all seemed to make so
light of it--which vexed me, because I had found it, and was as proud as
if I had made it. Not by any means that the Sawyer was half as careless
as he seemed to be; he put on much of this for my sake, having very
lofty principles, especially concerning the duty of the young. Young
people were never to have small ideas, so far as he could help it,
particularly upon such matters as Mammon, or the world, or fashion; and
not so very seldom he was obliged to catch himself up in his talking,
when he chanced to be going on and forgetting that I, who required a
higher vein of thought for my youth, was taking his words downright; and
I think that all this had a great deal to do with his treating all that
gold in such an exemplary manner; for if it had really mattered nothing,
what made him go in the dark and shoot a great barrow-load of gravel
over it?



CHAPTER XV

BROUGHT TO BANK


The sanity of a man is mainly tested among his neighbors and kindred by
the amount of consideration which he has consistently given to cash.
If money has been the chief object of his life, and he for its sake has
spared nobody, no sooner is he known to be successful than admiration
overpowers all the ill-will he has caused. He is shrewd, sagacious,
long-headed, and great; he has earned his success, and few men grudge,
while many seek to get a slice of it; but he, as a general rule,
declines any premature distribution, and for this custody of his wealth
he is admired all the more by those who have no hope of sharing it.

As soon as ever it was known that Uncle Sam had lodged at his banker's
a tremendous lump of gold, which rumor declared to be worth at least a
hundred thousand dollars, friends from every side poured in, all in
hot haste, to lend him their last farthing. The Sawyer was pleased with
their kindness, but thought that his second-best whiskey met the merits
of the case. And he was more particular than usual with his words;
for, according to an old saying of the diggers, a big nugget always has
children, and, being too heavy to go very far, it is likely to keep all
its little ones at home. Many people, therefore, were longing to seek
for the frogs of this great toad; for so in their slang the miners
called them, with a love of preternatural history. But Mr. Gundry
allowed no search for the frogs, or even the tadpoles, of his
patriarchal nugget. And much as he hated the idea of sowing the seeds
of avarice in any one, he showed himself most consistent now in avoiding
that imputation; for not only did he refuse to show the bed of his great
treasure, after he had secured it, but he fenced the whole of it in,
and tarred the fence, and put loopholes in it; and then he established
Jowler where he could neither be shot nor poisoned, and kept a man with
a double-barreled rifle in the ruin of the mill, handy to shoot, but not
easy to be shot; and this was a resolute man, being Martin himself, who
had now no business. Of course Martin grumbled; but the worse his temper
was, the better for his duty, as seems to be the case with a great many
men; and if any one had come to console him in his grumbling, never
would he have gone away again.

It would have been reckless of me to pretend to say what any body ought
to do; from the first to the last I left every thing to those who knew
so much better; at the same time I felt that it might have done no
harm if I had been more consulted, though I never dreamed of saying so,
because the great gold had been found by me, and although I cared for it
scarcely more than for the tag of a boot-lace, nobody seemed to me able
to enter into it quite as I did; and as soon as Firm's danger and pain
grew less, I began to get rather impatient, but Uncle Sam was not to be
hurried.

Before ever he hoisted that rock of gold, he had made up his mind for me
to be there, and he even put the business off, because I would not come
one night, for I had a superstitious fear on account of its being my
father's birthday. Uncle Sam had forgotten the date, and begged my
pardon for proposing it; but he said that we must not put it off later
than the following night, because the moonlight would be failing, and
we durst not have any kind of lamp, and before the next moon the hard
weather might begin. All this was before the liberal offers of his
friends, of which I have spoken first, although they happened to come
after it.

While the Sawyer had been keeping the treasure perdu, to abide the issue
of his grandson's illness, he had taken good care both to watch it and
to form some opinion of its shape and size; for, knowing the pile which
I had described, he could not help finding it easily enough; and indeed
the great fear was that others might find it, and come in great force to
rob him; but nothing of that sort had happened, partly because he
held his tongue rigidly, and partly, perhaps, because of the simple
precaution which he had taken.

Now, however, it was needful to impart the secret to one man at least;
for Firm, though recovering, was still so weak that it might have killed
him to go into the water, or even to exert himself at all; and strong
as Uncle Sam was, he knew that even with hoisting-tackle, he alone could
never bring that piece of bullion to bank; so, after much consideration,
he resolved to tell Martin of the mill, as being the most trusty man
about the place, as well as the most surly; but he did not tell him
until every thing was ready, and then he took him straightway to the
place.

Here, in the moonlight, we stood waiting, Firm and myself and Suan Isco,
who had more dread than love of gold, and might be useful to keep watch,
or even to lend a hand, for she was as strong as an ordinary man. The
night was sultry, and the fire-flies (though dull in the radiance of the
moon) darted, like soft little shooting-stars, across the still face
of shadow, and the flood of the light of the moon was at its height,
submerging every thing.

While we were whispering and keeping in the shade for fear of attracting
any wanderer's notice, we saw the broad figure of the Sawyer rising from
a hollow of the bank, and behind him came Martin the foreman, and we
soon saw that due preparation had been made, for they took from under
some drift-wood (which had prevented us from observing it) a small
movable crane, and fixed it on a platform of planks which they set up in
the river-bed.

"Palefaces eat gold," Suan Isco said, reflectively, and as if to satisfy
herself. "Dem eat, drink, die gold; dem pull gold out of one other's
ears. Welly hope Mellican mans get enough gold now."

"Don't be sarcastic, now, Suan," I answered; "as if it were possible to
have enough!"

"For my part," said Firm, who had been unusually silent all the evening,
"I wish it had never been found at all. As sure as I stand here,
mischief will come of it. It will break up our household. I hope it will
turn out a lump of quartz, gilt on the face, as those big nuggets do,
ninety-nine out of a hundred. I have had no faith in it all along."

"Because I found it, Mr. Firm, I suppose," I answered, rather pettishly,
for I never had liked Firm's incessant bitterness about my nugget.
"Perhaps if you had found it, Mr. Firm, you would have had great faith
in it."

"Can't say, can't say," was all Firm's reply; and he fell into the
silent vein again.

"Heave-ho! heave-ho! there, you sons of cooks!" cried the Sawyer, who
was splashing for his life in the water. "I've tackled 'un now. Just
tighten up the belt, to see if he biteth centre-like. You can't lift
'un! Lord bless 'ee, not you. It 'll take all I know to do that, I
guess; and Firm ain't to lay no hand to it. Don't you be in such a
doggoned hurry. Hold hard, can't you?"

For Suan and Martin were hauling for their lives, and even I caught hold
of a rope-end, but had no idea what to do with it, when the Sawyer swung
himself up to bank, and in half a minute all was orderly. He showed
us exactly where to throw our weight, and he used his own to such good
effect that, after some creaking and groaning, the long horn of the
crane rose steadily, and a mass of dripping sparkles shone in the
moonlight over the water.

"Hurrah! what a whale! How the tough ash bends!" cried Uncle Sam,
panting like a boy, and doing nearly all the work himself. "Martin, lay
your chest to it. We'll grass him in two seconds. Californy never saw a
sight like this, I reckon."

There was plenty of room for us all to stand round the monster and
admire it. In shape it was just like a fat toad, squatting with his
shoulders up and panting. Even a rough resemblance to the head and the
haunches might be discovered, and a few spots of quartz shone here and
there on the glistening and bossy surface. Some of us began to feel and
handle it with vast admiration; but Firm, with his heavy boots, made a
vicious kick at it, and a few bright scales, like sparks, flew off.

"Why, what ails the lad?" cried the Sawyer, in some wrath; "what harm
hath the stone ever done to him? To my mind, this here lump is a proof
of the whole creation of the world, and who hath lived long enough
to gainsay? Here this lump hath lain, without changing color, since
creation's day; here it is, as big and heavy as when the Lord laid hand
to it. What good to argue agin such facts? Supposin' the world come out
o' nothing, with nobody to fetch it, or to say a word of orders, how
ever could it 'a managed to get a lump of gold like this in it? They
clever fellers is too clever. Let 'em put all their heads together, and
turn out a nugget, and I'll believe them."

Uncle Sam's reasoning was too deep for any but himself to follow. He was
not long in perceiving this, though we were content to admire his words
without asking him to explain them; so he only said, "Well, well," and
began to try with both hands if he could heft this lump. He stirred it,
and moved it, and raised it a little, as the glisten of the light upon
its roundings showed; but lift it fairly from the ground he could not,
however he might bow his sturdy legs and bend his mighty back to it;
and, strange to say, he was pleased for once to acknowledge his own
discomfiture.

"Five hundred and a half I used to lift to the height of my knee-cap
easily; I may 'a fallen off now a hundred-weight with years, and
strings in my back, and rheumatics; but this here little toad is a
clear hundredweight out and beyond my heftage. If there's a pound here,
there's not an ounce under six hundred-weight, I'll lay a thousand
dollars. Miss Rema, give a name to him. All the thundering nuggets has
thundering names."

"Then this shall be called 'Uncle Sam,'" I answered, "because he is the
largest and the best of all."

"It shall stand, miss," cried Martin, who was in great spirits, and
seemed to have bettered himself forever. "You could not have given it a
finer name, miss, if you had considered for a century. Uncle Sam is the
name of our glorious race, from the kindness of our natur'. Every body's
uncle we are now, in vartue of superior knowledge, and freedom, and
giving of general advice, and stickin' to all the world, or all the good
of it. Darned if old Sam aren't the front of creation!"

"Well, well," said the Sawyer, "let us call it 'Uncle Sam,' if the dear
young lady likes it; it would be bad luck to change the name; but, for
all that, we must look uncommon sharp, or some of our glorious race will
come and steal it afore we unbutton our eyes."

"Pooh!" cried Martin; but he knew very well that his master's words were
common-sense; and we left him on guard with a double-barreled gun, and
Jowler to keep watch with him. And the next day he told us that he had
spent the night in such a frame of mind from continual thought that when
our pet cow came to drink at daybreak, it was but the blowing of her
breath that saved her from taking a bullet between her soft tame eyes.

Now it could not in any kind of way hold good that such things should
continue; and the Sawyer, though loath to lose sight of the nugget,
perceived that he must not sacrifice all the morals of the neighborhood
to it, and he barely had time to dispatch it on its road at the bottom
of a load of lumber, with Martin to drive, and Jowler to sit up, and
Firm to ride behind, when a troop of mixed robbers came riding across,
with a four-wheel cart and two sturdy mules--enough to drag off every
thing. They had clearly heard of the golden toad, and desired to know
more of him; but Uncle Sam, with his usual blandness, met these men at
the gate of his yard, and upon the top rail, to ease his arm, he rested
a rifle of heavy metal, with seven revolving chambers. The robbers found
out that they had lost their way, and Mr. Gundry answered that so they
had, and the sooner they found it in another direction, the better it
would be for them. They thought that he had all his men inside, and they
were mighty civil, though we had only two negroes to help us, and Suan
Isco, with a great gun cocked. But their curiosity was such that they
could not help asking about the gold; and, sooner than shoot them, Uncle
Sam replied that, upon his honor, the nugget was gone. And the fame of
his word was so well known that these fellows (none of whom could tell
the truth, even at confession) believed him on the spot, and begged his
pardon for trespassing on his premises. They hoped that he would not say
a word to the Vigilance Committee, who hanged a poor fellow for losing
his road; and he told them that if they made off at once, nobody should
pursue them; and so they rode off very happily.



CHAPTER XVI

FIRM AND INFIRM


Strange as it may appear, our quiet little home was not yet disturbed by
that great discovery of gold. The Sawyer went up to the summit of esteem
in public opinion; but to himself and to us he was the same as ever. He
worked with his own hard hands and busy head just as he used to do; for
although the mill was still in ruins, there was plenty of the finer work
to do, which always required hand-labor. And at night he would sit at
the end of the table furthest from the fire-place, with his spectacles
on, and his red cheeks glowing, while he designed the future mill, which
was to be built in the spring, and transcend every mill ever heard,
thought, or dreamed of.

We all looked forward to a quiet winter, snug with warmth and cheer
in-doors, and bright outside with sparkling trees, brisk air, and frosty
appetite, when a foolish idea arose which spoiled the comfort at least
of two of us. Ephraim Gundry found out, or fancied, that he was entirely
filled with love of a very young maid, who never dreamed of such things,
and hated even to hear of them; and the maid, unluckily, was myself.

During the time of his ailment I had been with him continually, being
only too glad to assuage his pain, or turn his thoughts away from it.
I partly suspected that he had incurred his bitter wound for my sake;
though I never imputed his zeal to more than a young man's natural wrath
at an outrage. But now he left me no longer in doubt, and made me
most uncomfortable. Perhaps I was hard upon him, and afterward I often
thought so, for he was very kind and gentle; but I was an orphan child,
and had no one to advise me in such matters. I believe that he should
have considered this, and allowed me to grow a little older; but perhaps
he himself was too young as yet and too bashful to know how to manage
things. It was the very evening after his return from Sacramento, and
the beauty of the weather still abode in the soft warm depth around
us. In every tint of rock and tree and playful glass of river a quiet
clearness seemed to lie, and a rich content of color. The grandeur of
the world was such that one could only rest among it, seeking neither
voice nor thought.

Therefore I was more surprised than pleased to hear my name ring loudly
through the echoing hollows, and then to see the bushes shaken, and an
eager form leap out. I did not answer a word, but sat with a wreath of
white bouvardia and small adiantum round my head, which I had plaited
anyhow.

"What a lovely dear you are!" cried Firm, and then he seemed frightened
at his own words.

"I had no idea that you would have finished your dinner so soon as this,
Mr. Firm."

"And you did not want me. You are vexed to see me. Tell the truth, Miss
Rema."

"I always tell the truth," I answered; "and I did not want to be
disturbed just now. I have so many things to think of."

"And not me among them. Oh no, of course you never think of me, Erema."

"It is very unkind of you to say that," I answered, looking clearly at
him, as a child looks at a man. "And it is not true, I assure you, Firm.
Whenever I have thought of dear Uncle Sam, I very often go on to think
of you, because he is so fond of you."

"But not for my own sake, Erema; you never think of me for my own sake."

"But yes, I do, I assure you, Mr. Firm; I do greatly. There is scarcely
a day that I do not remember how hungry you are, and I think of you."

"Tush!" replied Firm, with a lofty gaze. "Even for a moment that does
not in any way express my meaning. My mind is very much above all eating
when it dwells upon you, Erema. I have always been fond of you, Erema."

"You have always been good to me, Firm," I said, as I managed to get
a great branch between us. "After your grandfather, and Suan Isco, and
Jowler, I think that I like you best of almost any body left to me. And
you know that I never forget your slippers."

"Erema, you drive me almost wild by never understanding me. Now will you
just listen to a little common-sense? You know that I am not romantic."

"Yes, Firm; yes, I know that you never did any thing wrong in any way."

"You would like me better if I did. What an extraordinary thing it is!
Oh, Erema, I beg your pardon."

He had seen in a moment, as men seem to do, when they study the much
quicker face of a girl, that his words had keenly wounded me--that I
had applied them to my father, of whom I was always thinking, though I
scarcely ever spoke of him. But I knew that Firm had meant no harm, and
I gave him my hand, though I could not speak.

"My darling," he said, "you are very dear to me--dearer than all the
world besides. I will not worry you any more. Only say that you do not
hate me."

"How could I? How could any body? Now let us go in and attend to Uncle
Sam. He thinks of every body before himself."

"And I think of every body after myself. Is that what you mean, Erema?"

"To be sure! if you like. You may put any meaning on my words that
you think proper. I am accustomed to things of that sort, and I pay no
attention whatever, when I am perfectly certain that I am right."

"I see," replied Firm, applying one finger to the side of his nose in
deep contemplation, which, of all his manners, annoyed me most. "I see
how it is; Miss Rema is always perfectly certain that she is right, and
the whole of the rest of the world quite wrong. Well, after all, there
is nothing like holding a first-rate opinion of one's self."

"You are not what I thought of you," I cried, being vexed beyond
bearance by such words, and feeling their gross injustice. "If you wish
to say any thing more, please to leave it until you recover your temper.
I am not quite accustomed to rudeness."

With these words, I drew away and walked off, partly in earnest and
partly in joke, not wishing to hear another word; and when I looked
back, being well out of sight, there he sat still, with his head on his
hands, and my heart had a little ache for him.

However, I determined to say no more, and to be extremely careful. I
could not in justice blame Ephraim Gundry for looking at me very often.
But I took good care not to look at him again unless he said something
that made me laugh, and then I could scarcely help it. He was sharp
enough very soon to find out this; and then he did a thing which was
most unfair, as I found out long afterward. He bought an American
jest-book, full of ideas wholly new to me, and these he committed to
heart, and brought them out as his own productions. If I had only known
it, I must have been exceedingly sorry for him. But Uncle Sam used to
laugh and rub his hands, perhaps for old acquaintance' sake; and when
Uncle Sam laughed, there was nobody near who could help laughing with
him. And so I began to think Firm the most witty and pleasant of men,
though I tried to look away.

But perhaps the most careful and delicate of things was to see how Uncle
Sam went on. I could not understand him at all just then, and thought
him quite changed from my old Uncle Sam; but afterward, when I came
to know, his behavior was as clear and shallow as the water of his own
river. He had very strange ideas about what he generally called "the
female kind." According to his ideas (and perhaps they were not so
unusual among mankind, especially settlers), all "females" were of a
good but weak and consistently inconsistent sort. The surest way to make
them do whatever their betters wanted, was to make them think that it
was not wanted, but was hedged with obstacles beyond their power to
overcome, and so to provoke and tantalize them to set their hearts upon
doing it. In accordance with this idea (than which there can be none
more mistaken), he took the greatest pains to keep me from having a word
to say to Firm; and even went so far as to hint, with winks and nods
of pleasantry, that his grandson's heart was set upon the pretty Miss
Sylvester, the daughter of a man who owned a herd of pigs, much too near
our saw-mills, and herself a young woman of outrageous dress, and in
a larger light contemptible. But when Mr. Gundry, without any words,
conveyed this piece of news to me, I immediately felt quite a liking for
gaudy but harmless Pennsylvania--for so her parents had named her when
she was too young to help it; and I heartily hoped that she might suit
Firm, which she seemed all the more likely to do as his conduct could
not be called noble. Upon that point, however, I said not a word,
leaving him purely to judge for himself, and feeling it a great relief
that now he could not say any thing more to me. I was glad that his
taste was so easily pleased, and I told Suan Isco how glad I was.

This I had better have left unsaid, for it led to a great explosion,
and drove me away from the place altogether before the new mill was
finished, and before I should otherwise have gone from friends who were
so good to me; not that I could have staid there much longer, even if
this had never come to pass; for week by week and month by month I was
growing more uneasy: uneasy not at my obligations or dependence upon
mere friends (for they managed that so kindly that I seemed to confer
the favor), but from my own sense of lagging far behind my duty.

For now the bright air, and the wholesome food, and the pleasure of
goodness around me, were making me grow, without knowledge or notice,
into a tall and not altogether to be overlooked young woman. I was
exceedingly shy about this, and blushed if any one spoke of it; but yet
in my heart I felt it was so; and how could I help it? And when people
said, as rough people will, and even Uncle Sam sometimes, "Handsome is
as handsome does," or "Beauty is only skin-deep," and so on, I made it
my duty not to be put out, but to bear it in mind and be thankful. And
though I had no idea of any such influence at the moment, I hope that
the grandeur of nature around and the lofty style of every thing
may have saved me from dwelling too much on myself, as Pennsylvania
Sylvester did.

Now the more I felt my grown-up age and health and buoyant vigor, the
surer I knew that the time was come for me to do some good with them;
not to benefit the world in general, in a large and scattery way (as
many young people set out to do, and never get any further), but to
right the wrong of my own house, and bring home justice to my own heart.
This may be thought a partial and paltry object to set out with; and
it is not for me to say otherwise. At the time, it occurred to me in no
other light except as my due business, and I never took any large view
at all. But even now I do believe (though not yet in pickle of wisdom)
that if every body, in its own little space and among its own little
movements, will only do and take nothing without pure taste of the salt
of justice, no reeking atrocity of national crimes could ever taint the
heaven.

Such questions, however, become me not. I have only to deal with very
little things, sometimes too slim to handle well, and too hazy to be
woven; and if they seem below my sense and dignity to treat of, I can
only say that they seemed very big at the time when I had to encounter
them.

For instance, what could be more important, in a little world of life,
than for Uncle Sam to be put out, and dare even to think ill of me?
Yet this he did; and it shows how shallow are all those theories of the
other sex which men are so pleased to indulge in. Scarcely any thing
could be more ridiculous from first to last, when calmly and truly
considered, than the firm belief which no power of reason could for the
time root out of him.

Uncle Sam, the dearest of all mankind to me, and the very kindest, was
positively low-enough to believe, in his sad opinion of the female race,
that my young head was turned because of the wealth to which I had no
claim, except through his own justice. He had insisted at first that the
whole of that great nugget belonged to me by right of sole discovery.
I asked him whether, if any stranger had found it, it would have been
considered his, and whether he would have allowed a "greaser," upon
finding, to make off with it. At the thought of this, Mr. Gundry gave
a little grunt, and could not go so far as to maintain that view of it.
But he said that my reasoning did not fit; that I was not a greaser,
but a settled inhabitant of the place, and entitled to all a settler's
rights; that the bed of the river would have been his grave but for the
risk of my life, and therefore whatever I found in the bed of the river
belonged to me, and me only.

In argument he was so much stronger than I could ever attempt to be
that I gave it up, and could only say that if he argued forever it
could never make any difference. He did not argue forever, but only
grew obstinate and unpleasant, so that I yielded at last to own the half
share of the bullion.

Very well. Every body would have thought, who has not studied the nature
of men or been dragged through it heavily, that now there could be no
more trouble between two people entirely trusting each other, and only
anxious that the other should have the best of it. Yet, instead of that
being the case, the mischief, the myriad mischief, of money set in,
until I heartily wished sometimes that my miserable self was down in the
hole which the pelf had left behind it.

For what did Uncle Sam take into his head (which was full of generosity
and large ideas, so loosely packed that little ones grew between them,
especially about womankind)--what else did he really seem to think, with
the downright stubbornness of all his thoughts, but that I, his poor
debtor and pensioner and penniless dependent, was so set up and elated
by this sudden access of fortune that henceforth none of the sawing race
was high enough for me to think of? It took me a long time to believe
that so fair and just a man ever could set such interpretation upon me.
And when it became too plain that he did so, truly I know not whether
grief or anger was uppermost in my troubled heart.



CHAPTER XVII

HARD AND SOFT


Before very long it was manifest enough that Mr. Gundry looked down upon
Miss Sylvester with a large contempt. But while this raised my opinion
of his judgment, it almost deprived me of a great relief--the relief of
supposing that he wished his grandson to marry this Pennsylvania.
For although her father, with his pigs and cattle, and a low sort of
hostelry which he kept, could settle "a good pile of dollars" upon
her, and had kept her at the "learnedest ladies' college" even in
San Francisco till he himself trembled at her erudition, still it was
scarcely to be believed that a man of the Sawyer's strong common-sense
and disregard of finery would ever accept for his grandchild a girl made
of affectation, vulgarity, and conceit. And one day, quite in the early
spring, he was so much vexed with the fine lady's airs that he left no
doubt about his meaning.

Miss Sylvester was very proud of the figure she made on horseback; and
having been brought up, perhaps as a child, to ride after pigs and so
on, she must have had fine opportunities of acquiring a graceful style
of horsemanship. And now she dashed through thick and thin in a most
commanding manner, caring no more for a snow-drift than ladies do for a
scraping of the road. No one with the least observation could doubt that
this young woman was extremely anxious to attract Firm Gundry's notice;
and therefore, on the day above spoken of, once more she rode over, with
her poor father in waiting upon her as usual.

Now I know very well how many faults I have, and to deny them has never
been my practice; but this is the honest and earnest truth, that no
smallness of mind, or narrowness of feeling, or want of large or fine
sentiments made me bolt my door when that girl was in the house. I
simply refused, after seeing her once, to have any thing more to say to
her; by no means because of my birth and breeding (which are things that
can be most easily waived when the difference is acknowledged), nor yet
on account of my being brought up in the company of ladies, nor even by
reason of any dislike which her bold brown eyes put into me. My cause
was sufficient and just and wise. I felt myself here as a very
young girl, in safe and pure and honest hands, yet thrown on my own
discretion, without any feminine guidance whatever. And I had learned
enough from the wise French sisters to know at a glance that Miss
Sylvester was not a young woman who would do me good.

Even Uncle Sam, who was full of thought and delicate care about me, so
far as a man can understand, and so far as his simple shrewdness went,
in spite of all his hospitable ways and open universal welcome,
though he said not a word (as on such a point he was quite right in
doing)--even he, as I knew by his manner, was quite content with my
decision. But Firm, being young and in many ways stupid, made a little
grievance of it. And, of course, Miss Sylvester made a great one.

"Oh, I do declare, I am going away," through my open window I heard her
exclaim in her sweetly affected tone, at the end of that long visit,
"without even having the honor of saying a kind word to your young
visitor. Do not wait for me, papa; I must pay my devoirs. Such a
distinguished and travelled person can hardly be afflicted with mauvaise
honte. Why does she not rush to embrace me? All the French people do;
and she is so French! Let me see her, for the sake of my accent."

"We don't want no French here, ma'am," replied Uncle Sam, as Sylvester
rode off, "and the young lady wants no Doctor Hunt. Her health is as
good as your own, and you never catch no French actions from her. If she
wanted to see you, she would 'a come down."

"Oh, now, this is too barbarous! Colonel Gundry, you are the most
tyrannous man; in your own dominions an autocrat. Every body says
so, but I never would believe it. Oh, don't let me go away with that
impression. And you do look so good-natured!"

"And so I mean to look, Miss Penny, until you are out of sight."

The voice of the Sawyer was more dry than that of his oldest and
rustiest saw. The fashionable and highly finished girl had no idea what
to make of him; but gave her young horse a sharp cut, to show her figure
as she reined him; and then galloping off, she kissed her tan gauntlet
with crimson net-work down it, and left Uncle Sam to revolve his
rudeness, with the dash of the wet road scattered in the air.

"I wouldn't 'a spoke to her so course," he said to Firm, who now
returned from opening the gate and delivering his farewell, "if she
wasn't herself so extra particular, gild me, and sky-blue my mouldings
fine. How my mother would 'a stared at the sight of such a gal! Keep
free of her, my lad, keep free of her. But no harm to put her on, to
keep our missy alive and awake, my boy."

Immediately I withdrew from ear-shot, more deeply mortified than I can
tell, and perhaps doing Firm an injustice by not waiting for his answer.
I knew not then how lightly men will speak of such delicate subjects;
and it set me more against all thoughts of Firm than a month's
reflection could have done. When I came to know more of the world, I saw
that I had been very foolish. At the time, however, I was firmly set
in a strong resolve to do that which alone seemed right, or even
possible--to quit with all speed a place which could no longer be suited
for me.

For several days I feared to say a single word about it, while equally
I condemned myself for having so little courage. But it was not as if
there were any body to help me, or tell me what to do; sometimes I was
bold with a surety of right, and then again I shook with the fear of
being wrong. Because, through the whole of it, I felt how wonderfully
well I had been treated, and what a great debt I owed of kindness; and
it seemed to be only a nasty little pride which made me so particular.
And being so unable to settle for myself, I waited for something to
settle it.

Something came, in a way which I had not by any means expected. I had
told Suan Isco how glad I was that Firm had fixed his liking steadily
upon Miss Sylvester. If any woman on earth could be trusted not to say
a thing again, that one was this good Indian. Not only because of her
provident habits, but also in right of the difficulty which encompassed
her in our language. But she managed to get over both of these, and to
let Mr. Ephraim know, as cleverly as if she had lived in drawing-rooms,
whatever I had said about him. She did it for the best; but it put him
in a rage, which he came at once to have out with me.

"And so, Miss Erema," he said, throwing down his hat upon the table of
the little parlor, where I sat with an old book of Norman ballads, "I
have your best wishes, then, have I, for a happy marriage with Miss
Sylvester?"

I was greatly surprised at the tone of his voice, while the flush on his
cheeks and the flash of his eyes, and even his quick heavy tread, showed
plainly that his mind was a little out of balance. He deserved it,
however, and I could not grieve.

"You have my best wishes," I replied, demurely, "for any state of life
to which you may be called. You could scarcely expect any less of me
than that."

"How kind you are! But do you really wish that I should marry old
Sylvester's girl?"

Firm, as he asked this question, looked so bitterly reproachful (as if
he were saying, "Do you wish to see me hanged?"), while his eyes took a
form which reminded me so of the Sawyer in a furious puzzle, that it was
impossible for me to answer as lightly as I meant to do.

"No, I can not say, Firm, that I wish it at all; unless your heart is
set on it--"

"Don't you know, then, where my heart is set?" he asked me, in a deep
voice, coming nearer, and taking the ballad-book from my hands. "Why
will you feign not to know, Erema, who is the only one I can ever think
of twice? Above me, I know, in every possible way--birth and education
and mind and appearance, and now far above me in money as well. But what
are all these things? Try to think if only you could like me. Liking
gets over every thing, and without it nothing is any thing. Why do
I like you so, Erema? Is it because of your birth, and teaching,
and manners, and sweet looks, and all that, or even because of your
troubles?"

"How can I tell, Firm--how can I tell? Perhaps it is just because of
myself. And why do you do it at all, Firm?"

"Ah, why do I do it? How I wish I knew! Perhaps then I might cure it. To
begin with, what is there, after all, so very wonderful about you?"

"Oh, nothing, I should hope. Most surely nothing. It would grieve me to
be at all wonderful. That I leave for American ladies."

"Now you don't understand me. I mean, of course, that you are
wonderfully good and kind and clever; and your eyes, I am sure, and your
lips and smile, and all your other features--there is nothing about them
that can be called any thing else but wonderful."

"Now, Firm, how exceedingly foolish you are! I did hope that you knew
better."

"Erema, I never shall know better. I never can swerve or change, if I
live to be a hundred and fifty. You think me presumptuous, no doubt,
from what you are brought up to. And you are so young that to seek to
bind you, even if you loved me, would be an unmanly thing. But now you
are old enough, and you know your own mind surely well enough, just to
say whether you feel as if you could ever love me as I love you."

He turned away, as if he felt that he had no right to press me so, and
blamed himself for selfishness; and I liked him better for doing that
than for any thing he had done before. Yet I knew that I ought to speak
clearly, and though my voice was full of tears, I tried.

"Dear Firm," I said, as I took his hand and strove to look at him
steadily, "I like and admire you very much; and by-and-by--by-and-by, I
might, that is, if you did not hurry me. Of all the obstacles you have
mentioned, none is worth considering. I am nothing but a poor castaway,
owing my life to Uncle Sam and you. But one thing there is which could
never be got over, even if I felt as you feel toward me. Never can
I think of little matters, or of turning my thoughts to--to any such
things as you speak of, as long as a vile reproach and wicked imputation
lies on me. And before even that, I have to think of my father, who gave
his life for me. Firm, I have been here too long delaying, and wasting
my time in trifles. I ought to have been in Europe long ago. If I am old
enough for what you talk of, I am old enough to do my duty. If I am old
enough for love, as it is called, I am old enough for hate. I have more
to do with hate than love, I think."

"Erema," cried Firm, "what a puzzle you are! I never even dreamed that
you could be so fierce. You are enough to frighten Uncle Sam himself."

"If I frighten you, Firm, that is quite enough. You see now how vain it
is to say another word."

"I do not see any thing of the sort. Come back, and look at me quite
calmly."

Being frightened at the way in which I had spoken, and having passed the
prime of it, I obeyed him in a moment, and came up gently and let him
look at me to his liking. For little as I thought of such things
till now, I seemed already to know more about them, or at least to
wonder--which is the stir of the curtain of knowledge. I did not say
any thing, but labored to think nothing and to look up with unconscious
eyes. But Firm put me out altogether by his warmth, and made me flutter
like a stupid little bird.

"My darling," he said, smoothing back my hair with a kindness such as I
could not resent, and quieting me with his clear blue eyes, "you are not
fit for the stormy life to which your high spirit is devoting you. You
have not the hardness and bitterness of mind, the cold self-possession
and contempt of others, the power of dissembling and the iron will--in
a word, the fundamental nastiness, without which you never could get
through such a job. Why, you can not be contemptuous even to me!"

"I should hope not. I should earn your contempt, if I could."

"There, you are ready to cry at the thought. Erema, do not mistake
yourself. Remember that your father would never have wished it--would
have given his life ten thousand times over to prevent it. Why did he
bring you to this remote, inaccessible part of the world except to save
you from further thought of evil? He knew that we listen to no rumors
here, no social scandals, or malignant lies; but we value people as we
find them. He meant this to be a haven for you; and so it shall be
if you will only rest; and you shall be the queen of it. Instead of
redressing his memory now, you would only distress his spirit. What does
he care for the world's gossip now? But he does care for your happiness.
I am not old enough to tell you things as I should like to tell them.
I wish I could--how I wish I could! It would make all the difference to
me."

"It would make no difference, Firm, to me; because I should know it was
selfishness. Not selfishness of yours, I mean, for you never could be
selfish; but the vilest selfishness of mine, the same as starved my
father. You can not see things as I see them, or else you would not
talk so. When you know that a thing is right, you do it. Can you tell me
otherwise? If you did, I should despise you."

"If you put it so, I can say no more. You will leave us forever, Erema?"

"No, not forever. If the good God wills it, I will come back when my
work is done. Forgive me, dear Firm, and forget me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Erema; but a great deal I never can hope
to forgot."



CHAPTER XVIII

OUT OF THE GOLDEN GATE


Little things, or what we call little, always will come in among great
ones, or at least among those which we call great. Before I passed the
Golden Gate in the clipper ship Bridal Veil (so called from one of the
Yosemite cascades) I found out what I had long wished to know--why Firm
had a crooked nose. At least, it could hardly be called crooked if any
body looked aright at it; but still it departed from the bold straight
line which nature must have meant for it, every thing else about him
being as straight as could be required. This subject had troubled me
more than once, though of course it had nothing whatever to do with the
point of view whence I regarded him.

Suan Isco could not tell me, neither could Martin of the mill; I
certainly could not ask Firm himself, as the Sawyer told me to do when
once I put the question, in despair, to him. But now, as we stood on the
wharf exchanging farewells, perhaps forever, and tears of anguish were
in my eyes, and my heart was both full and empty, ample and unexpected
light was thrown on the curvature of Firm's nose.

For a beautiful girl, of about my own age, and very nicely dressed,
came up and spoke to the Sawyer (who stood at my side), and then, with
a blush, took his grandson's hand. Firm took off his hat to her very
politely, but allowed her to see perhaps by his manner that he was
particularly engaged just now; and the young lady, with a quick glance
at me, walked off to rejoin her party. But a garrulous old negro
servant, who seemed to be in attendance upon her, ran up and caught Firm
by his coat, and peered up curiously at his face.

"How young massa's poor nose dis long time? How him feel, spose now
again?" he inquired, with a deferential grin. "Young massa ebber able
take a pinch of good snuff? He! he! missy berry heavy den? Missy no
learn to dance de nose polka den?"

"What on earth does he mean?" I could not help asking, in spite of our
sorrowful farewell, as the negro went on with sundry other jokes and
cackles at his own facetiousness. And then Uncle Sam, to divert my
thoughts, while I waited for signal to say good-by, told me how Firm got
a slight twist to his nose.

Ephraim Gundry had been well taught, in all the common things a man
should learn, at a good quiet school at Frisco, which distinguished
itself from all other schools by not calling itself a college. And when
he was leaving to begin home life, with as much put into him as he could
manage--for his nature was not bookish--when he was just seventeen years
old, and tall and straight and upright, but not set into great bodily
strength, which could not yet be expected, a terrible fire broke out in
a great block of houses newly occupied, over against the school-house
front. Without waiting for master's leave or matron's, the boys, in the
Californian style, jumped over the fencing and went to help. And they
found a great crowd collected, and flames flaring out of the top of
the house. At the top of the house, according to a stupid and therefore
general practice, was the nursery, made of more nurses than children, as
often happens with rich people. The nurses had run away for their lives,
taking two of the children with them; but the third, a fine little girl
of ten, had been left behind, and now ran to the window with red
hot flames behind her. The window was open, and barbs of fire, like
serpents' tongues, played over it.

"Jump, child, jump! for God's sake, jump!" cried half a hundred people,
while the poor scared creature quivered on the ledge, and shrank from
the frightful depth below. At last, stung by a scorching volley, she
gathered her night-gown tight, and leaped, trusting to the many faces
and many arms raised toward her. But though many gallant men were there,
only one stood fast just where she fell, and that one was the youth,
Firm Gundry. Upon him she fell, like a stone from heaven, and though
he held up his arms in the smoky glare, she came down badly: badly, at
least, for him, but, as her father said, providentially; for one of
her soles, or heels, alighted on the bridge of Ephraim's young nose. He
caught her on his chest, and forgetful of himself, he bore her to her
friends triumphantly, unharmed, and almost smiling. But the symmetry of
an important part of his face was spoiled forever.

When I heard of this noble affair, and thought of my own pusillanimous
rendering--for verily I had been low enough, from rumors of Firm's
pugnacity, to attribute these little defects of line to some fisticuffs
with some miner--I looked at Firm's nose through the tears in my eyes,
and had a great mind not to go away at all. For what is the noblest of
all things in man--as I bitterly learned thereafter, and already had
some guesses? Not the power of moving multitudes with eloquence or by
orders; not the elevation of one tribe through the lowering of others,
nor even the imaginary lift of all by sentiments as yet above them:
there may be glory in all of these, but the greatness is not with them.
It remains with those who behave like Firm, and get their noses broken.

However, I did not know those things at that time of life, though I
thought it right for every man to be brave and good; and I could not
help asking who the young lady was, as if that were part of the heroism.
The Sawyer, who never was unready for a joke, of however ancient
quality, gave a great wink at Firm (which I failed to understand), and
asked him how much the young lady was worth. He expected that Firm
would say, "Five hundred thousand dollars"--which was about her value, I
believe--and Uncle Sam wanted me to hear it; not that he cared a single
cent himself, but to let me know what Firm could do.

Firm, however, was not to be led into any trap of that sort. He knew me
better than the old man did, and that nothing would stir me to jealousy,
and he quite disappointed the Sawyer.

"I have never asked what she is worth," he said, with a glance
of contempt at money; "but she scarcely seems worth looking at,
compared--compared with certain others."

In the distance I saw the young lady again, attempting no attraction,
but walking along quite harmlessly, with the talkative negro after her.
It would have been below me to pursue the subject, and I waited for
others to re-open it; but I heard no more about her until I had been
for more than a week at sea, and was able again to feel interest. Then I
heard that her name was Annie Banks, of the firm of Heniker, Banks, and
Co., who owned the ship I sailed in.

But now it was nothing to me who she was, or how beautiful, or how
wealthy, when I clung for the last time to Uncle Sam, and implored him
not to forget me. Over and over again he promised to be full of thoughts
of me, even when the new mill was started, which would be a most trying
time. He bowed his tall white head into my sheveled hair, and blessed
and kissed me, although I never deserved it, and a number of people were
looking on. Then I laid my hand in Firm's, and he did not lift it to his
lips, or sigh, but pressed it long and softly, and looked into my eyes
without a word. And I knew that there would be none to love like them,
wherever I might go.

But the last of all to say "good-by" was my beloved Jowler. He jumped
into the boat after me (for we were obliged to have a boat, the ship
having laden further down), and he put his fore-paws on my shoulders,
and whined and drooped his under-jaw. And when he looked at me as he
used, to know whether I was in fun or earnest, with more expression in
his bright brown eyes than any human being has, I fell back under his
weight and sobbed, and could not look at any one.

We had beautiful weather, and the view was glorious, as we passed the
Golden Gate, the entrance to what will one day be the capital of the
world, perhaps. For, as our captain said, all power and human energy and
strength are always going westward, and when they come here they must
stop, or else they would be going eastward again, which they never yet
have done. His argument may have been right or wrong--and, indeed, it
must have been one or the other--but who could think of such things now,
with a grander thing than human power--human love fading away behind? I
could not even bear to see the glorious mountains sinking, but ran below
and cried for hours, until all was dark and calm.

The reason for my sailing by this particular ship, and, indeed, rather
suddenly, was that an old friend and Cornish cousin of Mr. Gundry, who
had spent some years in California, was now returning to England by the
Bridal Veil. This was Major Hockin, an officer of the British army, now
on half-pay, and getting on in years. His wife was going home with him;
for their children were married and settled in England, all but one, now
in San Francisco. And that one being well placed in the firm of Heniker,
Banks, and Co., had obtained for his father and mother passage upon
favorable terms, which was, as we say, "an object to them."

For the Major, though admirably connected (as his kinship to Colonel
Gundry showed), and having a baronet not far off (if the twists of the
world were set aside), also having served his country, and received
a furrow on the top of his head, which made him brush his hair up,
nevertheless, or all the more for that, was as poor as a British officer
must be without official sesame. How he managed to feed and teach a
large and not clever family, and train them all to fight their way in a
battle worse than any of his own, and make gentlemen and ladies of them,
whatever they did or wherever they went, he only knew, and his faithful
wife, and the Lord who helps brave poverty. Of such things he never
spoke, unless his temper was aroused by luxury and self-indulgence and
laziness.

But now he was a little better off, through having his children off his
hands, and by means of a little property left him by a distant relative.
He was on his way home to see to this; and a better man never returned
to England, after always standing up for her.

Being a child in the ways of the world, and accustomed to large people,
I could not make out Major Hockin at first, and thought him no more than
a little man with many peculiarities. For he was not so tall as myself,
until he put his high-heeled boots on, and he made such a stir about
trifles at which Uncle Sam would have only grunted, that I took him to
be nothing more than a fidgety old campaigner. He wore a black-rimmed
double eyeglass with blue side-lights at his temples, and his hat, from
the shape of his forehead, hung back; he had narrow white wiry whiskers,
and a Roman nose, and most prominent chin, and keen gray eyes with
gingery brows, which contracted, like sharp little gables over
them, whenever any thing displeased him. Rosy cheeks, tight-drawn,
close-shaven, and gleaming with friction of yellow soap, added vigor
to the general expression of his face, which was firm and quick and
straightforward. The weather being warm, and the tropics close at hand,
Major Hockin was dressed in a fine suit of Nankin, spruce and trim, and
beautifully made, setting off his spare and active figure, which, though
he was sixty-two years of age, seemed always to be ready for a game of
leap-frog.

We were three days out of the Golden Gate, and the hills of the coast
ridge were faint and small, and the spires of the lower Nevada could
only be caught when the hot haze lifted; and every body lay about in our
ship where it seemed to afford the least smell and heat, and nobody
for a moment dreamed--for we really all were dreaming--of any body with
energy enough to be disturbed about any thing, when Major Hockin burst
in upon us all (who were trying not to be red-hot in the feeble shade
of poop awnings), leading by the hand an ancient woman, scarcely dressed
with decency, and howling in a tone very sad to hear.

"This lady has been robbed!" cried the Major; "robbed, not fifteen feet
below us. Robbed, ladies and gentlemen, of the most cherished treasures
of her life, the portrait of her only son, the savings of a life of
honest toil, her poor dead husband's tobacco-box, and a fine cut of
Colorado cheese."

"Ten pounds and a quarter, gospel true!" cried the poor woman, wringing
her hands, and searching for any kind face among us.

"Go to the captain," muttered one sleepy gentleman. "Go to the devil,"
said another sleepy man: "what have we to do with it?"

"I will neither go to the captain," replied the Major, very distinctly,
"nor yet to the devil, as a fellow who is not a man has dared to suggest
to me--"

"All tied in my own pocket-handkerchief!" the poor old woman began to
scream; "the one with the three-cornered spots upon 'un. Only two have
I ever owned in all my life, and this was the very best of 'em. Oh dear!
oh dear! that ever I should come to this exposing of my things!"

"Madam, you shall have justice done, as sure as my name is Hockin.
Gentlemen and ladies, if you are not all asleep, how would you like to
be treated so? Because the weather is a trifle warm, there you lie like
a parcel of Mexicans. If any body picked your pockets, would you have
life enough to roll over?"

"I don't think I should," said a fat young Briton, with a very
good-natured face; "but for a poor woman I can stand upright. Major
Hockin, here is a guinea for her. Perhaps more of us will give a
trifle."

"Well done!" cried the Major; "but not so much as that. Let us first
ascertain all the rights of the case. Perhaps half a crown apiece would
reach it."

Half a crown apiece would have gone beyond it, as we discovered
afterward, for the old lady's handkerchief was in her box, lost under
some more of her property; and the tide of sleepy charity taking this
direction under such vehement impulse, several other steerage passengers
lost their goods, but found themselves too late in doing so. But the
Major was satisfied, and the rude man who had told him to go amiss,
begged his pardon, and thus we sailed on slowly and peaceably.



CHAPTER XIX

INSIDE THE CHANNEL


That little incident threw some light upon Major Hockin's character. It
was not for himself alone that he was so particular, or, as many would
call it, fidgety, to have every thing done properly; for if any thing
came to his knowledge which he thought unfair to any one, it concerned
him almost as much as if the wrong had been done to his own home self.
Through this he had fallen into many troubles, for his impressions were
not always accurate; but they taught him nothing, or rather, as his wife
said, "the Major could not help it." The leading journals of the various
places in which Major Hockin sojourned had published his letters of
grievances sometimes, in the absence of the chief editor, and had
suffered in purse by doing so. But the Major always said, "Ventilate it,
ventilate the subject, my dear Sir; bring public opinion to bear on it."
And Mrs. Hockin always said that it was her husband to whom belonged
the whole credit of this new and spirited use of the fine word
"ventilation."

As betwixt this faithful pair, it is scarcely needful perhaps to say
that the Major was the master. His sense of justice dictated that, as
well as his general briskness. Though he was not at all like Mr. Gundry
in undervaluing female mind, his larger experience and more frequent
intercourse with our sex had taught him to do justice to us; and it was
pleasant to hear him often defer to the judgment of ladies. But this
he did more, perhaps, in theory than in practice; yet it made all the
ladies declare to one another that he was a perfect gentleman. And so
he was, though he had his faults; but his faults were such as we approve
of.

But Mrs. Hockin had no fault in any way worth speaking of. And whatever
she had was her husband's doing, through her desire to keep up with him.
She was pretty, even now in her sixtieth year, and a great deal prettier
because she never tried to look younger. Silver hair, and gentle eyes,
and a forehead in which all the cares of eight children had scarcely
imprinted a wrinkle, also a kind expression of interest in whatever was
spoken of, with a quiet voice and smile, and a power of not saying too
much at a time, combined to make this lady pleasant.

Without any fuss or declaration, she took me immediately under her care;
and I doubt not that, after two years passed in the society of Suan Isco
and the gentle Sawyer, she found many things in me to amend, which
she did by example and without reproof. She shielded me also in the
cleverest way from the curiosity of the saloon, which at first was
very trying. For the Bridal Veil being a well-known ship both for swift
passages and for equipment, almost every berth was taken, and when
the weather was calm, quite a large assembly sat down to dinner. Among
these, of course, were some ill-bred people, and my youth and reserve
and self-consciousness, and so on, made my reluctant face the mark for
many a long and searching gaze. My own wish had been not to dine thus in
public; but hearing that my absence would only afford fresh grounds for
curiosity, I took my seat between the Major and his wife, the former
having pledged himself to the latter to leave every thing to her
management. His temper was tried more than once to its utmost--which was
not a very great distance--but he kept his word, and did not interfere;
and I having had some experience with Firm, eschewed all perception
of glances. And as for all words, Mrs. Hockin met them with an obtuse
obliqueness; so that after a day or two it was settled that nothing
could be done about "Miss Wood."

It had been a very sore point to come to, and cost an unparalleled shed
of pride, that I should be shorn of two-thirds of my name, and called
"Miss Wood," like almost anybody else. I refused to entertain such a
very poor idea, and clung to the name which had always been mine--for
my father would never depart from it--and I even burst into tears, which
would, I suppose, be called "sentimental;" but still the stern fact
stared me in the face--I must go as "Miss Wood," or not go at all. Upon
this Major Hockin had insisted; and even Colonel Gundry could not move
him from his resolution.

Uncle Sam had done his utmost, as was said before, to stop me from
wishing to go at all; but when he found my whole heart bent upon it, and
even my soul imperiled by the sense of neglecting life's chief duty, his
own stern sense of right came in and sided with my prayers to him.
And so it was that he let me go, with pity for my youth and sex, but a
knowledge that I was in good hands, and an inborn, perhaps "Puritanical"
faith, that the Lord of all right would see to me.

The Major, on the other hand, had none of this. He differed from Uncle
Sam as much as a trim-cut and highly cultured garden tree differs from a
great spreading king of the woods. He was not without a strict sense of
religion, especially when he had to march men to church; and he never
even used a bad word, except when wicked facts compelled him. When
properly let alone, and allowed to nurse his own opinions, he had a
respectable idea that all things were certain to be ordered for the
best; but nothing enraged him so much as to tell him that when things
went against him, or even against his predictions.

It was lucky for me, then, that Major Hockin had taken a most adverse
view of my case. He formed his opinions with the greatest haste, and
with the greatest perseverance stuck to them; for he was the most
generous of mankind, if generous means one quite full of his genus. And
in my little case he had made up his mind that the whole of the facts
were against me. "Fact" was his favorite word, and one which he always
used with great effect, for nobody knows very well what it means, as it
does not belong to our language. And so when he said that the facts were
against me, who was there to answer that facts are not truth?

This fast-set conclusion of his was known to me not through himself,
but through his wife. For I could not yet bring myself to speak of the
things that lay close at my heart to him, though I knew that he must be
aware of them. And he, like a gentleman, left me to begin. I could often
see that he was ready and quite eager to give me the benefit of his
opinion, which would only have turned me against him, and irritated him,
perhaps, with me. And having no home in England, or, indeed, I might
say, any where, I was to live with the Major and his wife, supposing
that they could arrange it so, until I should discover relatives.

We had a long and stormy voyage, although we set sail so fairly; and I
thought that we never should round Cape Horn in the teeth of the furious
northeast winds; and after that we lay becalmed, I have no idea in what
latitude, though the passengers now talked quite like seamen, at least
till the sea got up again. However, at last we made the English Channel,
in the dreary days of November, and after more peril there than any
where else, we were safely docked at Southampton. Here the Major was met
by two dutiful daughters, bringing their husbands and children, and I
saw more of family life (at a distance) than had fallen to my lot to
observe before; and although there were many little jars and brawls and
cuts at one another, I was sadly inclined to wish sometimes for some
brothers and sisters to quarrel with.

But having none to quarrel with, and none to love, except good Mrs.
Hockin, who went away by train immediately, I spent such a wretched time
in that town that I longed to be back in the Bridal Veil in the very
worst of weather. The ooze of the shore and the reek of the water, and
the dreary flatness of the land around (after the glorious heaven-clad
heights, which made me ashamed of littleness), also the rough, stupid
stare of the men, when I went about as an American lady may freely do in
America, and the sharpness of every body's voice (instead of the genial
tones which those who can not produce them call "nasal," but which from
a higher view are cordial)--taken one after other, or all together,
these things made me think, in the first flush of thought, that England
was not a nice country. After a little while I found that I had been a
great deal too quick, as foreigners are with things which require quiet
comprehension. For instance, I was annoyed at having a stupid woman
put over me, as if I could not mind myself--a cook, or a nurse, or
housekeeper, or something very useful in the Hockin family, but to me a
mere incumbrance, and (as I thought in my wrath sometimes) a spy.
What was I likely to do, or what was any one likely to do to me, in
a thoroughly civilized country, that I could not even stay in private
lodgings, where I had a great deal to think of, without this dull
creature being forced upon me? But the Major so ordered it, and I gave
in.

There I must have staid for the slowest three mouths ever passed without
slow starvation finishing my growth, but not knowing how to "form my
mind," as I was told to do. Major Hockin came down once or twice to see
me, and though I did not like him, yet it was almost enough to make me
do so to see a little liveliness. But I could not and would not put
up with a frightful German baron of music, with a polished card like a
toast-rack, whom the Major tried to impress on me. As if I could stop to
take music lessons!

"Miss Wood," said Major Hockin, in his strongest manner, the last time
he came to see me, "I stand to you in loco parentis. That means, with
the duties, relationships, responsibilities, and what not, of the
unfortunate--I should say rather of the beloved--parent deceased. I wish
to be more careful of you than of a daughter of my own--a great deal
more careful, ten times, Miss Wood; I may say a thousand times more
careful, because you have not had the discipline which a daughter of
mine would have enjoyed. And you are so impulsive when you take an
idea! You judge every body by your likings. That leads to error, error,
error."

"My name is not Miss Wood," I answered; "my name is 'Erema Castlewood.'
Whatever need may have been on board ship for nobody knowing who I am,
surely I may have my own name now."

When any body says "surely," at once up springs a question; nothing
being sure, and the word itself at heart quite interrogative. The Major
knew all those little things which manage women so manfully. So he took
me by the hand and led me to the light and looked at me.

I had not one atom of Russian twist or dyed China grass in my hair, nor
even the ubiquitous aid of horse and cow; neither in my face or figure
was I conscious of false presentment. The Major was welcome to lead me
to the light and to throw up all his spectacles and gaze with all his
eyes. My only vexation was with myself, because I could not keep the
weakness--which a stranger should not see--out of my eyes, upon sudden
remembrance who it was that used to have the right to do such things to
me. This it was, and nothing else, that made me drop my eyes, perhaps.

"There, there, my dear!" said Major Hockin, in a softer voice than
usual. "Pretty fit you are to combat with the world, and defy the world,
and brave the world, and abolish the world--or at least the world's
opinion! 'Bo to a goose,' you can say, my dear; but no 'bo' to a gander.
No, no; do quietly what I advise--by-the-bye, you have never asked my
advice."

I can not have been hypocritical, for of all things I detest that most;
but in good faith I said, being conquered by the Major's relaxation of
his eyes,

"Oh, why have you never offered it to me? You knew that I never could
ask for it."

For the moment he looked surprised, as if our ideas had gone crosswise;
and then he remembered many little symptoms of my faith in his opinions;
which was now growing inevitable, with his wife and daughters, and many
grandchildren--all certain that he was a Solomon.

"Erema," he said, "you are a dear good girl, though sadly, sadly
romantic. I had no idea that you had so much sense. I will talk with
you, Erema, when we both have leisure."

"I am quite at leisure, Major Hockin," I replied, "and only too happy to
listen to you."

"Yes, yes, I dare say. You are in lodgings. You can do exactly as you
please. But I have a basin of ox-tail soup, a cutlet, and a woodcock
waiting for me at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. Bless me! I am five minutes
late already. I will come and have a talk with you afterward."

"Thank you," I said; "we had better leave it. It seems of no importance,
compared--compared with--"

"My dinner!" said the Major; but he was offended, and so was I a little,
though neither of us meant to vex the other.



CHAPTER XX

BRUNTSEA


It would be unfair to Major Hockin to take him for an extravagant man or
a self-indulgent one because of the good dinner he had ordered, and his
eagerness to sit down to it. Through all the best years of his life he
had been most frugal, abstemious, and self-denying, grudging every penny
of his own expense, but sparing none for his family. And now, when he
found himself so much better off, with more income and less outlay, he
could not be blamed for enjoying good things with the wholesome zest of
abstinence.

For, coming to the point, and going well into the matter, the Major had
discovered that the "little property" left to him, and which he was come
to see to, really was quite a fine estate for any one who knew how to
manage it, and would not spare courage and diligence. And of these two
qualities he had such abundance that, without any outlet, they might
have turned him sour.

The property lately devised to him by his cousin, Sir Rufus Hockin, had
long been far more plague than profit to that idle baronet. Sir Rufus
hated all exertion, yet could not comfortably put up with the only
alternative--extortion. Having no knowledge of his cousin Nick (except
that he was indefatigable), and knowing his own son to be lazier even
than himself had been, longing also to inflict even posthumous justice
upon the land agent, with the glad consent of his heir he left this
distant, fretful, and naked spur of land to his beloved cousin Major
Nicholas Hockin.

The Major first heard of this unexpected increase of his belongings
while he was hovering, in the land of gold, between his desire to
speculate and his dread of speculation. At once he consulted our Colonel
Gundry, who met him by appointment at Sacramento; and Uncle Sam having
a vast idea of the value of land in England, which the Major naturally
made the most of, now being an English land-owner, they spent a most
pleasant evening, and agreed upon the line marked out by Providence.

Thus it was that he came home, bringing (by kind arrangement) me, who
was much more trouble than comfort to him, and at first disposed to be
cold and curt. And thus it was that I was left so long in that wretched
Southampton, under the care of a very kind person who never could
understand me. And all this while (as I ought to have known, without
any one to tell me) Major Hockin was testing the value and beating the
bounds of his new estate, and prolonging his dinner from one to two
courses, or three if he had been travelling. His property was large
enough to afford him many dinners, and rich enough (when rightly
treated) to insure their quality.

Bruntsea is a quiet little village on the southeast coast of England, in
Kent or in Sussex, I am not sure which, for it has a constitution of its
own, and says that it belongs to neither. It used to be a place of size
and valor, furnishing ships, and finding money for patriotic purposes.
And great people both embarked and landed, one doing this and the other
that, though nobody seems to have ever done both, if history is to be
relied upon. The glory of the place is still preserved in a seal and
an immemorial stick, each of which is blessed with marks as
incomprehensible as could be wished, though both are to be seen for
sixpence. The name of the place is written in more than forty different
ways, they say; and the oldest inhabitant is less positive than the
youngest how to spell it.

This village lies in the mouth, or rather at the eastern end of the
mouth, of a long and wide depression among the hills, through which a
sluggish river wins its muddy consummation. This river once went far
along the sea-brink, without entering (like a child who is afraid to
bathe), as the Adur does at Shoreham, and as many other rivers do. And
in those days the mouth and harbor were under the cliff at Bruntsea,
whence its seal and corporation, stick, and other blessings. But three
or four centuries ago the river was drawn by a violent storm, like a
badger from his barrel, and forced to come straight out and face the
sea, without any three miles of dalliance. The time-serving water
made the best of this, forsook its ancient bed (as classic nymphs and
fountains used to do), and left poor Bruntsea with a dry bank, and
no haven for a cockle-shell. A new port, such as it is, incrusted the
fickle jaw of the river; piles were driven and earth-works formed, lest
the water should return to its old love; and Bruntsea, as concerned
her traffic, became but a mark of memory. Her noble corporation never
demanded their old channel, but regarded the whole as the will of
the Lord, and had the good sense to insist upon nothing except their
time-honored ceremonies.

In spite of all these and their importance, land became of no value
there. The owner of the Eastern Manor and of many ancient rights, having
no means of getting at them, sold them for an "old song," which they
were; and the buyer was one of the Hockin race, a shipwrecked mariner
from Cornwall, who had been kindly treated there, and took a fancy
accordingly. He sold his share in some mine to pay for it, settled here,
and died here; and his son, getting on in the world, built a house, and
took to serious smuggling. In the chalk cliff's eastward he found holes
of honest value to him, capable of cheap enlargement (which the Cornish
holes were not), and much more accessible from France. Becoming a
magistrate and deputy-lieutenant, he had the duty and privilege of
inquiring into his own deeds, which enabled him to check those few who
otherwise might have competed with him. He flourished, and bought more
secure estates; and his son, for activity against smugglers, was made a
gentle baronet.

These things now had passed away, and the first fee-simple of the Hockin
family became a mere load and incumbrance. Sir George and Sir Robert and
Sir Rufus, one after another, did not like the hints about contraband
dealings which met them whenever they deigned to come down there, till
at last the estate (being left to an agent) cost a great deal more than
he ever paid in. And thus--as should have been more briefly told--the
owner was our Major Hockin.

No wonder that this gentleman, with so many cares to attend to, had no
time at first to send for me. And no wonder that when he came down to
see me, he was obliged to have good dinners. For the work done by him in
those three months surprised every body except himself, and made in old
Bruntsea a stir unknown since the time of the Spanish Armada. For
he owned the house under the eastern cliff, and the warren, and the
dairy-farm inland, and the slope of the ground where the sea used to
come, and fields where the people grew potatoes gratis, and all the
eastern village, where the tenants paid their rents whenever they found
it rational.

A hot young man, in a place like this, would have done a great deal of
mischief. Either he would have accepted large views, and applauded this
fine communism (if he could afford it, and had no wife), or else he
would have rushed at every body headlong, and batted them back to their
abutments. Neither course would have created half the excitement which
the Major's did. At least, there might have been more talk at first, but
not a quarter so much in sum total. Of those things, however, there is
time enough to speak, if I dare to say any thing about them.

The things more to my mind (and therefore more likely to be made plain
to another mind) are not the petty flickering phantoms of the shadow we
call human, and which alone we realize, and dwell inside it and upon
it, as if it were all creation; but the infinitely nobler things of
ever-changing but perpetual beauty, and no selfishness. These, without
deigning to us even sense to be aware of them, shape our little minds
and bodies and our large self-importance, and fail to know when the lord
or king who owns is buried under them. To have perception of such mighty
truths is good for all of us: and I never had keener perception of them
than when I sat down on the Major's camp-stool, and saw all his land
around me, and even the sea--where all the fish were his, as soon as he
could catch them--and largely reflected that not a square foot of the
whole world would ever belong to me.

"Bruntlands," as the house was called, perhaps from standing well above
the sea, was sheltered by the curve of the eastern cliff, which looked
down over Bruntsea. The cliff was of chalk, very steep toward the sea,
and showing a prominent headland toward the south, but prettily rising
in grassy curves from the inland and from the westward. And then, where
it suddenly chined away from land-slope into sea-front, a long bar of
shingle began at right angles to it, and, as level as a railroad, went
to the river's mouth, a league or so now to the westward. And beyond
that another line of white cliffs rose, and looked well till they came
to their headland. Inside this bank of shingle, from end to end, might
be traced the old course of the river, and to landward of that trough at
the hither end stood, or lay, the calm old village.

Forsaken as it was by the river, this village stuck to its ancient site
and home, and instead of migrating, contracted itself, and cast off
needless members. Shrunken Bruntsea clung about the oldest of its
churches, while the four others fell to rack and ruin, and settled into
cow-yards and barns, and places where old men might sit and sigh. But
Bruntsea distinctly and trenchantly kept the old town's division into
east and west.

East Bruntsea was wholly in the Major's manor, which had a special
charter; and most of the houses belonged to him. This ownership hitherto
had meant only that the landlord should do all the tumble-down repairs
(when the agent reported that they must be done), but never must enter
the door for his rent. The borough had been disfranchised, though the
snuggest of the snug for generations; and the freemen, thus being
robbed of their rights, had no power to discharge their duties. And to
complicate matters yet further, for the few who wished to simplify them,
the custom of "borough-English" prevailed, and governed the descent of
dilapidations, making nice niceties for clever men of law.

"You see a fine property here, Miss Wood," Major Hockin said to me,
as we sat, on the day after I was allowed to come, enjoying the fresh
breeze from the sea and the newness of the February air, and looking
abroad very generally: "a very fine property, but neglected--shamefully,
horribly, atrociously neglected--but capable of noble things, of grand
things, of magnificent, with a trifle of judicious outlay."

"Oh, please not to talk of outlay, my dear," said good Mrs. Hockin,
gently; "it is such an odious word; and where in the world is it to come
from?"

"Leave that to me. When I was a boy my favorite copy in my copy-book
was, 'Where there's a will there's a way.' Miss Wood, what is your
opinion? But wait, you must have time to understand the subject. First
we bring a railway--always the first step; why, the line is already made
for it by the course of the old river, and the distance from Newport
three miles and a half. It ought not to cost quite 200 pounds a
mile--the mere outlay for rails and sleepers. The land is all mine,
and--and of course other landed proprietors'. Very well: these would all
unite, of course; so that not a farthing need be paid for land, which is
the best half of the battle. We have the station here--not too near my
house; that would never do; I could not bear the noise--but in a fine
central place where nobody on earth could object to it--lively, and
close at hand for all of them. Unluckily I was just too late. We have
lost a Parliamentary year through that execrable calm--you remember all
about it. Otherwise we would have had Billy Puff stabled at Bruntsea
by the first of May. But never mind; we shall do it all the better and
cheaper by taking our time about it. Very well: we have the railway
opened and the trade of the place developed. We build a fine terrace of
elegant villas, a crescent also, and a large hotel replete with every
luxury; and we form the finest sea-parade in England by simply assisting
nature. Half London comes down here to bathe, to catch shrimps, to
flirt, and to do the rest of it. We become a select, salubrious,
influential, and yet economical place; and then what do we do, Mrs.
Hockin?"

"My dear, how can I tell? But I hope that we should rest and be
thankful."

"Not a bit of it. I should hope not, indeed. Erema, what do we do then?"

"It is useless to ask me. Well, then, perhaps you set up a handsome
saw-mill!"

"A saw-mill! What a notion of Paradise! No; this is what we do--but
remember that I speak in the strictest confidence; dishonest antagonism
might arise, if we ventilated our ideas too soon--Mrs. Hockin and Miss
Wood, we demand the restoration of our river!--the return of our river
to its ancient course."

"I see," said his wife; "oh, how grand that would be! and how beautiful
from our windows! That really, now, is a noble thought!"

"A just one--simply a just one. Justice ought not to be noble, my
dear, however rare it may be. Generosity, magnanimity, heroism, and so
on--those are the things we call noble, my dear."

"And the founding of cities. Oh, my dear, I remember, when I was at
school, it was always said, in what we called our histories, that
the founders of cities had honors paid them, and altars built, and
divinities done, and holidays held in their honor."

"To that I object," cried the Major, sternly. "If I founded fifty
cities, I would never allow one holiday. The Sabbath is enough; one day
in seven--fifteen per cent, of one's whole time; and twenty per cent, of
your Sunday goes in church. Very right, of course, and loyal, and truly
edifying--Mrs. Hockin's father was a clergyman, Miss Wood; and the last
thing I would ever allow on my manor would be a Dissenting chapel; but
still I will have no new churches here, and a man who might go against
me. They all want to pick their own religious views, instead of
reflecting who supports them! It never used to be so; and such things
shall never occur on my manor. A good hotel, attendance included, and a
sound and moderate table d'hote; but no church, with a popish bag sent
round, and money to pay, 'without anything to eat.'"

"My dear! my dear!" cried Mrs. Hockin, "I never like you to talk like
that. You quite forget who my father was, and your own second son such a
very sound priest!"

"A priest! Don't let him come here," cried the Major, "or I'll let him
know what tonsure is, and read him the order of Melchisedec. A priest!
After going round the world three times, to come home and be hailed as
the father of a priest! Don't let him come near me, or I'll sacrifice
him."

"Now, Major, you are very proud of him," his good wife answered, as
he shook his stick. "How could he help taking orders when he was under
orders to do so? And his views are sound to the last degree, most
strictly correct and practical--at least except as to celibacy."

"He holds that his own mother ought never to have been born! Miss Wood,
do you call that practical?"

"I have no acquaintance with such things," I replied; "we had none of
them in California. But is it practical, Major Hockin--of course you
know best in your engineering--I mean, would it not require something
like a tunnel for the river and the railway to run on the same ground?"

"Why, bless me! That seems to have escaped my notice. You have not been
with old Uncle Sam for nothing. We shall have to appoint you our chief
engineer."



CHAPTER XXI

LISTLESS


It seemed an unfortunate thing for me, and unfavorable to my purpose,
that my host, and even my hostess too, should be so engrossed with their
new estate, its beauties and capabilities. Mrs. Hockin devoted herself
at once to fowls and pigs and the like extravagant economies, having
bought, at some ill-starred moment, a book which proved that hens ought
to lay eggs in a manner to support themselves, their families, and the
family they belonged to, at the price of one penny a dozen. Eggs being
two shillings a dozen in Bruntsea, here was a margin for profit--no less
than two thousand per cent, to be made, allowing for all accidents.
The lady also found another book, divulging for a shilling the author's
purely invaluable secret--how to work an acre of ground, pay house rent,
supply the house grandly, and give away a barrow-load of vegetables
every day to the poor of the parish, by keeping a pig--if that pig were
kept properly. And after that, pork and ham and bacon came of him, while
another golden pig went on.

Mrs. Hockin was very soft-hearted, and said that she never could make
bacon of a pig like that; and I answered that if she ever got him it
would be unwise to do so. However, the law was laid down in both books
that golden fowls and diamondic pigs must die the death before they
begin to overeat production; and the Major said, "To be sure. Yes, yes.
Let them come to good meat, and then off with their heads." And his wife
said that she was sure she could do it. When it comes to a question of
tare and tret, false sentiment must be excluded.

At the moment, these things went by me as trifles, yet made me more
impatient. Being older now, and beholding what happens with tolerance
and complacence, I am only surprised that my good friends were so
tolerant of me and so complacent. For I must have been a great annoyance
to them, with my hurry and my one idea. Happily they made allowance for
me, which I was not old enough to make for them.

"Go to London, indeed! Go to London by yourself!" cried the Major, with
a red face, and his glasses up, when I told him one morning that I could
stop no longer without doing something. "Mary, my dear, when you have
done out there, will you come in and reason--if you can--with Miss Wood.
She vows that she is going to London, all alone."

"Oh, Major Hockin--oh, Nicholas dear, such a thing has happened!" Mrs.
Hockin had scarcely any breath to tell us, as she came in through the
window. "You know that they have only had three bushels, or, at any
rate, not more than five, almost ever since they came. Erema, you know
as well as I do."

"Seven and three-quarter bushels of barley, at five and ninepence a
bushel, Mary," said the Major, pulling out a pocket-book; "besides
Indian corn, chopped meat, and potatoes."

"And fourteen pounds of paddy," I said--which was a paltry thing of me;
"not to mention a cake of graves, three sacks of brewers' grains, and
then--I forget what next."

"You are too bad, all of you. Erema, I never thought you would turn
against me so. And you made me get nearly all of it. But please to look
here. What do you call this? Is this no reward? Is this not enough?
Major, if you please, what do you call this? What a pity you have had
your breakfast!"

"A blessing--if this was to be my breakfast. I call that, my dear, the
very smallest egg I have seen since I took sparrows' nests. No wonder
they sell them at twelve a penny. I congratulate you upon your first
egg, my dear Mary."

"Well, I don't care," replied Mrs. Hockin, who had the sweetest temper
in the world. "Small beginnings make large endings; and an egg must be
always small at one end. You scorn my first egg, and Erema should have
had it if she had been good. But she was very wicked, and I know not
what to do with it."

"Blow it!" cried the Major. "I mean no harm, ladies. I never use low
language. What I mean is, make a pinhole at each end, give a puff, and
away goes two pennyworth, and you have a cabinet specimen, which your
egg is quite fitted by its cost to be. But now, Mary, talk to Miss Wood,
if you please. It is useless for me to say any thing, and I have three
appointments in the town"--he always called it "the town" now--"three
appointments, if not four; yes, I may certainly say four. Talk to Miss
Wood, my dear, if you please. She wants to go to London, which would be
absurd. Ladies seem to enter into ladies' logic. They seem to be able to
appreciate it better, to see all the turns, and the ins and outs, which
no man has intellect enough to see, or at least to make head or tail of.
Good-by for the present; I had better be off."

"I should think you had," exclaimed Mrs. Hockin, as her husband
marched off, with his side-lights on, and his short, quick step, and
well-satisfied glance at the hill which belonged to him, and the beach,
over which he had rights of plunder--or, at least, Uncle Sam would have
called them so, strictly as he stood up for his own.

"Now come and talk quietly to me, my dear," Mrs. Hockin began, most
kindly, forgetting all the marvel of her first-born egg. "I have noticed
how restless you are, and devoid of all healthy interest in any thing.
'Listless' is the word. 'Listless' is exactly what I mean, Erema. When
I was at your time of life, I could never have gone about caring for
nothing. I wonder that you knew that I even had a fowl; much more how
much they had eaten!"

"I really do try to do all I can, and that is a proof of it," I said.
"I am not quite so listless as you think. But those things do seem so
little to me."

"My dear, if you were happy, they would seem quite large, as, after all
the anxieties of my life, I am able now to think them. It is a power to
be thankful for, or, at least, I often think so. Look at my husband! He
has outlived and outlasted more trouble than any one but myself could
reckon up to him; and yet he is as brisk, as full of life, as ready
to begin a new thing to-morrow--when, at our age, there may be no
to-morrow, except in that better world, my dear, of which it is high
time for him and me to think, as I truly hope we may spare the time to
do."

"Oh, don't talk like that," I cried. "Please, Mrs. Hockin, to talk of
your hens and chicks--at least there will be chicks by-and-by. I am
almost sure there will, if you only persevere. It seems unfair to set
our minds on any other world till justice has been done in this."

"You are very young, my child, or you would know that in that case
we never should think of it at all. But I don't want to preach you a
sermon, Erema, even if I could do so. I only just want you to tell me
what you think, what good you imagine that you can do."

"It is no imagination. I am sure that I can right my father's wrongs.
And I never shall rest till I do so."

"Are you sure that there is any wrong to right?" she asked, in the
warmth of the moment; and then, seeing perhaps how my color changed, she
looked at me sadly, and kissed my forehead.

"Oh, if you had only once seen him," I said; "without any exaggeration,
you would have been satisfied at once. That he could ever have done any
harm was impossible--utterly impossible. I am not as I was. I can listen
to almost any thing now quite calmly. But never let me hear such a
wicked thing again."

"You must not go on like that, Erema, unless you wish to lose all your
friends. No one can help being sorry for you. Very few girls have been
placed as you are. I am sure when I think of my own daughters I can
never be too thankful. But the very first thing you have to learn, above
all things, is to control yourself."

"I know it--I know it, of course," I said; "and I keep on trying my very
best. I am thoroughly ashamed of what I said, and I hope you will try to
forgive me."

"A very slight exertion is enough for that. But now, my dear, what I
want to know is this--and you will excuse me if I ask too much--what
good do you expect to get by going thus to London? Have you any friend
there, any body to trust, any thing settled as to what you are to do?"

"Yes, every thing is settled in my own mind," I answered, very bravely:
"I have the address of a very good woman, found among my father's
papers, who nursed his children and understood his nature, and always
kept her faith in him. There must be a great many more who do the same,
and she will be sure to know them and introduce me to them; and I shall
be guided by their advice."

"But suppose that this excellent woman is dead, or not to be found, or
has changed her opinion?"

"Her opinion she never could change. But if she is not to be found, I
shall find her husband, or her children, or somebody; and besides that,
I have a hundred things to do. I have the address of the agent through
whom my father drew his income, though Uncle Sam let me know as little
as he could. And I know who his bankers were (when he had a bank), and
he may have left important papers there."

"Come, that looks a little more sensible, my dear; bankers may always
be relied upon. And there may be some valuable plate, Erema. But why not
let the Major go with you? His advice is so invaluable."

"I know that it is, in all ordinary things. But I can not have him
now, for a very simple reason. He has made up his mind about my dear
father--horribly, horribly; I can't speak of it. And he never changes
his mind; and sometimes when I look at him I hate him."

"Erema, you are quite a violent girl, although you so seldom show it.
Is the whole world divided, then, into two camps--those who think as you
wish and those who are led by their judgment to think otherwise? And are
you to hate all who do not think as you wish?"

"No, because I do not hate you," I said; "I love you, though you do not
think as I wish. But that is only because you think your husband must be
right of course. But I can not like those who have made up their minds
according to their own coldness."

"Major Hockin is not cold at all. On the contrary, he is a warm-hearted
man--I might almost say hot-hearted."

"Yes, I know he is. And that makes it ten times worse. He takes up every
body's case--but mine."

"Sad as it is, you almost make me smile," my hostess answered, gravely;
"and yet it must be very bitter for you, knowing how just and kind
my husband is. I am sure that you will give him credit for at least
desiring to take your part. And doing so, at least you might let him go
with you, if only as a good protection."

"I have no fear of any one; and I might take him into society that he
would not like. In a good cause he would go any where, I know. But in my
cause, of course he would be scrupulous. Your kindness I always can rely
upon, and I hope in the end to earn his as well."

"My dear, he has never been unkind to you. I am certain that you never
can say that of him. Major Hockin unkind to a poor girl like you!"

"The last thing I wish to claim is any body's pity," I answered, less
humbly than I should have spoken, though the pride was only in my tone,
perhaps. "If people choose to pity me, they are very good, and I am not
at all offended, because--because they can not help it, perhaps, from
not knowing any thing about me. I have nothing whatever to be pitied
for, except that I have lost my father, and have nobody left to care for
me, except Uncle Sam in America."

"Your Uncle Sam, as you call him, seems to be a very wonderful man,
Erema," said Mrs. Hockin, craftily, so far as there could be any craft
in her; "I never saw him--a great loss on my part. But the Major went
up to meet him somewhere, and came home with the stock of his best tie
broken, and two buttons gone from his waistcoat. Does Uncle Sam make
people laugh so much? or is it that he has some extraordinary gift of
inducing people to taste whiskey? My husband is a very--most abstemious
man, as you must be well aware, Miss Wood, or we never should have been
as we are, I am sure. But, for the first time in all my life, I
doubted his discretion on the following day, when he had--what shall I
say?--when he had been exchanging sentiments with Uncle Sam."

"Uncle Sam never takes too much in any way," I replied to this new
attack; "he knows what he ought to take, and then he stops. Do you think
that it may have been his 'sentiments,' perhaps, that were too strong
and large for the Major?"

"Erema!" cried Mrs. Hockin, with amazement, as if I had no right to
think or express my thoughts on life so early; "if you can talk politics
at eighteen, you are quite fit to go any where. I have heard a great
deal of American ladies, and seen not a little of them, as you know.
But I thought that you called yourself an English girl, and insisted
particularly upon it."

"Yes, that I do; and I have good reason. I am born of an old English
family, and I hope to be no disgrace to it. But being brought up in a
number of ways, as I have been without thinking of it, and being quite
different from the fashionable girls Major Hockin likes to walk with--"

"My dear, he never walks with any body but myself!"

"Oh yes, I remember! I was thinking of the deck. There are no
fashionable girls here yet. Till the terrace is built, and the
esplanade--"

"There shall be neither terrace nor esplanade if the Major is to do such
things upon them."

"I am sure that he never would," I replied; "it was only their dresses
that he liked at all, and that very, to my mind, extraordinary style,
as well as unbecoming. You know what I mean, Mrs. Hockin, that
wonderful--what shall I call it?--way of looping up."

"Call me 'Aunt Mary,' my dear, as you did when the waves were so
dreadful. You mean that hideous Mexican poncho, as they called it, stuck
up here, and going down there. Erema, what observation you have! Nothing
ever seems to escape you. Did you ever see any thing so indecorous?"

"It made me feel just as if I ought not to look at them," I answered,
with perfect truth, for so it did; "I have never been accustomed to
such things. But seeing how the Major approved of them, and liked to
be walking up and down between them, I knew that they must be not only
decorous, but attractive. There is no appeal from his judgment, is
there?"

"I agree with him upon every point, my dear child; but I have always
longed to say a few words about that. For I can not help thinking that
he went too far."



CHAPTER XXII

BETSY BOWEN


So far, then, there was nobody found to go into my case, and to think
with me, and to give me friendly countenance, with the exception of
Firm Gundry. And I feared that he tried to think with me because of his
faithful and manly love, more than from balance of evidence. The Sawyer,
of course, held my father guiltless, through his own fidelity and simple
ways; but he could not enter into my set thought of a stern duty laid
upon me, because to his mind the opinion of the world mattered nothing
so long as a man did aright. For wisdom like this, if wisdom it is, I
was a great deal too young and ardent; and to me fair fame was of almost
equal value with clear conscience. And therefore, wise or foolish, rich
or poor, beloved or unloved, I must be listless about other things, and
restless in all, until I should establish truth and justice.

However, I did my best to be neither ungrateful nor stupidly obstinate,
and, beginning more and more to allow for honest though hateful
opinions, I yielded to dear Mrs. Hockin's wish that I should not do
any thing out of keeping with English ideas and habits. In a word, I
accepted the Major's kind offer to see me quite safe in good hands in
London, or else bring me straightway back again. And I took only just
things enough for a day or two, meaning to come back by the end of the
week. And I kissed Mrs. Hockin just enough for that.

It would not be a new thing for me to say that "we never know what is
going to happen;" but, new or stale, it was true enough, as old
common sayings of common-sense (though spurned when not wanted) show
themselves. At first, indeed, it seemed as if I were come for nothing,
at least as concerned what I thought the chief business of my journey.
The Major had wished to go first to the bank, and appeared to think
nothing of any thing else; but I, on the other hand, did not want him
there, preferring to keep him out of my money matters, and so he was
obliged to let me have my way.

I always am sorry when I have been perverse, and it seemed to serve me
right for willfulness when no Betsy Bowen could be discovered either at
the place which we tried first, or that to which we were sent thence.
Major Hockin looked at me till I could have cried, as much as to hint
that the whole of my story was all of a piece, all a wild-goose chase.
And being more curious than ever now to go to the bank and ransack,
he actually called out to the cabman to drive without delay to Messrs.
Shovelin, Wayte, and Shovelin. But I begged him to allow me just one
minute while I spoke to the servant-maid alone. Then I showed her a
sovereign, at which she opened her mouth in more ways than one, for she
told me that "though she had faithfully promised to say nothing about
it, because of a dreadful quarrel between her mistress and Mrs. Strouss
that was now, and a jealousy between them that was quite beyond
belief, she could not refuse such a nice young lady, if I would
promise faithfully not to tell." This promise I gave with fidelity, and
returning to the cabman, directed him to drive not to Messrs. Shovelin,
Wayte, and Shovelin just yet, but to No. 17 European Square, St.
Katharine's.

From a maze of streets and rugged corners, and ins and outs nearly
as crooked as those of a narrow human nature, we turned at last into
European Square, which was no square at all, but an oblong opening
pitched with rough granite, and distinguished with a pump. There were
great thoroughfares within a hundred yards, but the place itself seemed
unnaturally quiet upon turning suddenly into it, only murmurous with
distant London din, as the spires of a shell hold the heavings of the
sea. After driving three or four times round the pump, for the houses
were numbered anyhow, we found No. 17, and I jumped out.

"Now don't be in such a fierce hurry, Miss Wood," cried the Major, who
was now a little crusty; "English ladies allow themselves to be handed
out, without hurrying the gentlemen who have the honor."

"But I wanted to save you the honor," I said. "I will come back
immediately, if you will kindly wait." And with this I ran up the old
steps, and rang and knocked, while several bearded faces came and gazed
through dingy windows.

"Can I see Mrs. Strouss?" I asked, when a queer old man in faded brown
livery came to the door with a candle in his hand, though the sun was
shining.

"I am the Meesther Strouss; when you see me, you behold the good Meeses
Strouss also."

"Thank you, but that will not do," I replied; "my business is with Mrs.
Strouss alone."

He did not seem to like this at first sight, but politely put the
chain-bolt on the door while he retired to take advice; and the Major
looked out of the cab and laughed.

"You had better come back while you can," he said, "though they seem in
no hurry to swallow you."

This was intended to vex me, and I did not even turn my head to him. The
house looked very respectable, and there were railings to the area.

"The house is very respectable," continued Major Hockin, who always
seemed to know what I was thinking of, and now in his quick manner ran
up the steps; "just look, the scraper is clean. You never see that, or
at least not often, except with respectable people, Erema."

"Pray what would my scraper be? and who is Erema?" cried a strong, clear
voice, as the chain of the door was set free, and a stout, tall woman
with a flush in her cheeks confronted us. "I never knew more than one
Erema--Good mercy!"

My eyes met hers, and she turned as pale as death, and fell back into
a lobby chair. She knew me by my likeness to my father, falling on
the memories started by my name; and strong as she was, the surprise
overcame her, at the sound of which up rushed the small Herr Strouss.

"Vhat are you doing dere, all of you? vhat have you enterprised with my
frau? Explain, Vilhelmina, or I call de policemans, vhat I should say de
peelers."

"Stop!" cried the Major, and he stopped at once, not for the word, which
would have had no power, although I knew nothing about it then, but
because he had received a sign which assured him that here was a brother
Mason. In a moment the infuriated husband vanished into the rational and
docile brother.

"Ladies and gentlemans, valk in, if you please," he said, to my great
astonishment; "Vilhelmina and my good self make you velcome to our poor
house. Vilhelmina, arise and say so."

"Go to the back kitchen, Hans," replied Wilhelmina, whose name was
"Betsy," "and don't come out until I tell you. You will find work to do
there, and remember to pump up. I wish to hear things that you are not
to hear, mind you. Shut yourself in, and if you soap the door to deceive
me, I shall know it."

"Vere goot, vere goot," said the philosophical German; "I never meddle
with nothing, Vilhelmina, no more than vhat I do for de money and de
house."

Betsy, however, was not quite so sure of that. With no more ceremony she
locked him in, and then came back to us, who could not make things out.

"My husband is the bravest of the brave," she told us, while she put
down his key on the table; "and a nobler man never lived; I am sure
of that. But every one of them foreigners--excuse me, Sir, you are an
Englishman?"

"I am," replied the Major, pulling up his little whiskers; "I am so,
madam, and nothing you can say will in any way hurt my feelings. I am
above nationalities."

"Just so, Sir. Then you will feel with me when I say that they
foreigners is dreadful. Oh, the day that I ever married one of 'em--but
there, I ought to be ashamed of myself, and my lord's daughter facing
me."

"Do you know me?" I asked, with hot color in my face, and my eyes, I
dare say, glistening. "Are you sure that you know me? And then please to
tell me how."

As I spoke I was taking off the close silk bonnet which I had worn for
travelling, and my hair, having caught in a pin, fell round me, and
before I could put it up, or even think of it, I lay in the great arms
of Betsy Bowen, as I used to lie when I was a little baby, and when my
father was in his own land, with a home and wife and seven little ones.
And to think of this made me keep her company in crying, and it was some
time before we did any thing else.

"Well, well," replied the Major, who detested scenes, except when he had
made them; "I shall be off. You are in good hands; and the cabman pulled
out his watch when we stopped. So did I. But he is sure to beat me. They
draw the minute hand on with a magnet, I am told, while the watch hangs
on their badge, and they can swear they never opened it. Wonderful age,
very wonderful age, since the time when you and I were young, ma'am."

"Yes, Sir; to be sure, Sir!" Mrs. Strouss replied, as she wiped her eyes
to speak of things; "but the most wonderfulest of all things, don't you
think, is the going of the time, Sir? No cabby can make it go faster
while he waits, or slower while he is a-driving, than the minds inside
of us manage it. Why, Sir, it wore only like yesterday that this here
tall, elegant, royal young lady was a-lying on my breast, and what a
hand she was to kick! And I said that her hair was sure to grow like
this. If I was to tell you only half what comes across me--"

"If you did, ma'am, the cabman would make his fortune, and I should lose
mine, which is more than I can afford. Erema, after dinner I shall look
you up. I know a good woman when I see her, Mrs. Strouss, which does not
happen every day. I can trust Miss Castlewood with you. Good-by, good-by
for the present."

It was the first time he had ever called me by my proper name, and that
made me all the more pleased with it.

"You see, Sir, why I were obliged to lock him in," cried the "good
woman," following to the door, to clear every blur from her virtues;
"for his own sake I done it, for I felt my cry a-coming, and to see
me cry--Lord bless you, the effect upon him is to call out for a
walking-stick and a pint of beer."

"All right, ma'am, all right!" the Major answered, in a tone which
appeared to me unfeeling. "Cabman, are you asleep there? Bring the
lady's bag this moment."

As the cab disappeared without my even knowing where to find that good
protector again in this vast maze of millions, I could not help letting
a little cold fear encroach on the warmth of my outburst. I had heard
so much in America of the dark, subtle places of London, and the wicked
things that happen all along the Thames, discovered or invented by great
writers of their own, that the neighborhood of the docks and the thought
of rats (to which I could never grow accustomed) made me look with a
flash perhaps of doubt at my new old friend.

"You are not sure of me, Miss Erema," said Mrs. Strouss, without taking
offense. "After all that has happened, who can blame it on you? But your
father was not so suspicious, miss. It might have been better for him if
he had--according, leastways, to my belief, which a team of wild horses
will never drag out."

"Oh, only let me hear you talk of that!" I exclaimed, forgetting all
other things. "You know more about it than any body I have ever met
with, except my own father, who would never tell a word."

"And quite right he was, miss, according to his views. But come to my
little room, unless you are afraid. I can tell you some things that your
father never knew."

"Afraid! do you think I am a baby still? But I can not bear that Mr.
Strouss should be locked up on my account."

"Then he shall come out," said Mrs. Strouss, looking at me very
pleasantly. "That was just like your father, Miss Erema. But I fall
into the foreign ways, being so much with the foreigners." Whether
she thought it the custom among "foreigners" for wives to lock their
husbands in back kitchens was more than she ever took the trouble to
explain. But she walked away, in her stout, firm manner, and presently
returned with Mr. Strouss, who seemed to be quite contented, and made me
a bow with a very placid smile.

"He is harmless; his ideas are most grand and good," his wife explained
to me, with a nod at him. "But I could not have you in with the
gentleman, Hans. He always makes mistakes with the gentlemen, miss, but
with the ladies he behaves quite well."

"Yes, yes, with the ladies I am nearly always goot," Herr Strouss
replied, with diffidence. "The ladies comprehend me right, all right,
because I am so habitual with my wife. But the gentlemans in London have
no comprehension of me."

"Then the loss is on their side," I answered, with a smile; and he said,
"Yes, yes, they lose vere much by me."



CHAPTER XXIII

BETSY'S TALE


Now I scarcely know whether it would be more clear to put into narrative
what I heard from Betsy Bowen, now Wilhelmina Strouss, or to let her
tell the whole in her own words, exactly as she herself told it then
to me. The story was so dark and sad--or at least to myself it so
appeared--that even the little breaks and turns of lighter thought or
livelier manner, which could scarcely fail to vary now and then
the speaker's voice, seemed almost to grate and jar upon its sombre
monotone. On the other hand, by omitting these, and departing from
her homely style, I might do more of harm than good through failing to
convey impressions, or even facts, so accurately. Whereas the gist and
core and pivot of my father's life and fate are so involved (though
not evolved) that I would not miss a single point for want of time or
diligence. Therefore let me not deny Mrs. Strouss, my nurse, the right
to put her words in her own way. And before she began to do this she
took the trouble to have every thing cleared away and the trays brought
down, that her boarders (chiefly German) might leave their plates and be
driven to their pipes.

"If you please, Miss Castlewood," Mrs. Strouss said, grandly, "do you or
do you not approve of the presence of 'my man,' as he calls himself?--an
improper expression, in my opinion; such, however, is their nature. He
can hold his tongue as well as any man, though none of them are very
sure at that. And he knows pretty nigh as much as I do, so far as his
English can put things together, being better accustomed in German. For
when we were courting I was fain to tell him all, not to join him under
any false pretenses, miss, which might give him grounds against me."

"Yes, yes, it is all vere goot and true--so goot and true as can be."

"And you might find him come very handy, my dear, to run of any kind of
messages. He can do that very well, I assure you, miss--better than any
Englishman."

Seeing that he wished to stay, and that she desired it, I begged him
to stop, though it would have been more to my liking to hear the tale
alone.

"Then sit by the door, Hans, and keep off the draught," said his
Wilhelmina, kindly. "He is not very tall, miss, but he has good
shoulders; I scarcely know what I should do without him. Well, now, to
begin at the very beginning: I am a Welshwoman, as you may have heard.
My father was a farmer near Abergavenny, holding land under Sir Watkin
Williams, an old friend of your family. My father had too many girls,
and my mother scarcely knew what to do with the lot of us. So some of us
went out to service, while the boys staid at home to work the land. One
of my sisters was lady's-maid to Lady Williams, Sir Watkin's wife, at
the time when your father came visiting there for the shooting of the
moor-fowl, soon after his marriage with your mother. What a sweet good
lady your mother was! I never saw the like before or since. No sooner
did I set eyes upon her but she so took my fancy that I would have gone
round the world with her. We Welsh are a very hot people, they say--not
cold-blooded, as the English are. So, wise or foolish, right, wrong, or
what might be, nothing would do for me but to take service, if I
could, under Mrs. Castlewood. Your father was called Captain Castlewood
then--as fine a young man as ever clinked a spur, but without any boast
or conceit about him; and they said that your grandfather, the old lord,
kept him very close and spare, although he was the only son. Now this
must have been--let me see, how long ago?--about five-and-twenty years,
I think. How old are you now, Miss Erema? I can keep the weeks better
than the years, miss."

"I was eighteen on my last birthday. But never mind about the time--go
on."

"But the time makes all the difference, miss, although at the time
we may never think so. Well, then, it must have been better than
six-and-twenty year agone; for though you came pretty fast, in the
Lord's will, there was eight years between you and the first-born babe,
who was only just a-thinking of when I begin to tell. But to come back
to myself, as was--mother had got too many of us still, and she was glad
enough to let me go, however much she might cry over it, as soon as Lady
Williams got me the place. My place was to wait upon the lady first,
and make myself generally useful, as they say. But it was not very
long before I was wanted in other more important ways, and having been
brought up among so many children, they found me very handy with the
little ones; and being in a poor way, as they were then--for people, I
mean, of their birth and place--they were glad enough soon to make head
nurse of me, although I was under-two-and-twenty.

"We did not live at the old lord's place, which is under the hills
looking on the river Thames, but we had a quiet little house in
Hampshire; for the Captain was still with his regiment, and only came to
and fro to us. But a happier little place there could not be, with the
flowers, and the cow, and the birds all day, and the children running
gradually according to their age, and the pretty brook shining in the
valley. And as to the paying of their way, it is true that neither of
them was a great manager. The Captain could not bear to keep his pretty
wife close; and she, poor thing, was trying always to surprise him with
other presents besides all the beautiful babies. But they never were in
debt all round, as the liars said when the trouble burst; and if they
owed two or three hundred pounds, who could justly blame them?

"For the old lord, instead of going on as he should, and widening his
purse to the number of the mouths, was niggling at them always for
offense or excuse, to take away what little he allowed them. The Captain
had his pay, which would go in one hand, and the lady had a little money
of her own; but still it was cruel for brought-up people to have nothing
better to go on with. Not that the old lord was a miser neither; but it
was said, and how far true I know not, that he never would forgive your
father for marrying the daughter of a man he hated. And some went so far
as to say that if he could have done it, he would have cut your father
out of all the old family estates. But such a thing never could I
believe of a nobleman having his own flesh and blood.

"But, money or no money, rich or poor, your father and mother, I assure
you, my dear, were as happy as the day was long. For they loved one
another and their children dearly, and they did not care for any
mixing with the world. The Captain had enough of that when put away in
quarters; likewise his wife could do without it better and better at
every birth, though once she had been the very gayest of the gay, which
you never will be, Miss Erema.

"Now, my dear, you look so sad and so 'solid,' as we used to say, that
if I can go on at all, I must have something ready. I am quite an old
nurse now, remember. Hans, go across the square, and turn on the left
hand round the corner, and then three more streets toward the right, and
you see one going toward the left, and you go about seven doors down it,
and then you see a corner with a lamp-post."

"Vilhelmina, I do see de lamp-post at de every corner."

"That will teach you to look more bright, Hans. Then you find a shop
window with three blue bottles, and a green one in the middle."

"How can be any middle to three, without it is one of them?"

"Then let it be two of them. How you contradict me! Take this little
bottle, and the man with a gold braid round a cap, and a tassel with a
tail to it, will fill it for four-pence when you tell him who you are."

"Yes, yes; I do now comprehend. You send me vhere I never find de vay,
because I am in de vay, Vilhelmina!"

I was most thankful to Mrs. Strouss for sending her husband (however
good and kind-hearted he might be) to wander among many shops of
chemists, rather than to keep his eyes on me, while I listened to things
that were almost sure to make me want my eyes my own. My nurse had seen,
as any good nurse must, that, grown and formed as I might be, the nature
of the little child that cries for its mother was in me still.

"It is very sad now," Mrs. Strouss began again, without replying to my
grateful glance; "Miss Erema, it is so sad that I wish I had never begun
with it. But I see by your eyes--so like your father's, but softer, my
dear, and less troublesome--that you will have the whole of it out, as
he would with me once when I told him a story for the sake of another
servant. It was just about a month before you were born, when the
trouble began to break on us. And when once it began, it never stopped
until all that were left ran away from it. I have read in the newspapers
many and many sad things coming over whole families, such as they
call 'shocking tragedies;' but none of them, to my mind, could be more
galling than what I had to see with my very own eyes.

"It must have been close upon the middle of September when old Lord
Castlewood came himself to see his son's house and family at Shoxford.
We heard that he came down a little on the sudden to see to the truth of
some rumors which had reached him about our style of living. It was the
first time he had ever been there; for although he had very often been
invited, he could not bear to be under the roof of the daughter, as he
said, of his enemy. The Captain, just happening to come home on leave
for his autumn holiday, met his father quite at his own door--the very
last place to expect him. He afterward acknowledged that he was not
pleased for his father to come 'like a thief in the night.' However,
they took him in and made him welcome, and covered up their feelings
nicely, as high-bred people do.

"What passed among them was unknown to any but themselves, except so
far as now I tell you. A better dinner than usual for two was ready, to
celebrate the master's return and the beginning of his holiday; and the
old lord, having travelled far that day, was persuaded to sit down with
them. The five eldest children (making all except the baby, for you was
not born, miss, if you please) they were to have sat up at table, as
pretty as could be--three with their high cushioned stools, and two in
their arm-chairs screwed on mahogany, stuffed with horsehair, and with
rods in front, that the little dears might not tumble out in feeding,
which they did--it was a sight to see them! And how they would give to
one another, with their fingers wet and shining, and saying, 'Oo, dat
for oo.' Oh dear, Miss Erema, you were never born to see it! What a
blessing for you! All those six dear darlings laid in their little
graves within six weeks, with their mother planted under them; and the
only wonder is that you yourself was not upon her breast.

"Pay you no heed to me, Miss Erema, when you see me a-whimpering in and
out while I am about it. It makes my chest go easy, miss, I do assure
you, though not at the time of life to understand it. All they children
was to have sat up for the sake of their dear father, as I said just
now; but because of their grandfather all was ordered back. And back
they come, as good as gold, with Master George at the head of them, and
asked me what milk-teeth was. Grandpa had said that 'a dinner was no
dinner if milk-teeth were allowed at it.' The hard old man, with his own
teeth false! He deserved to sit down to no other dinner--and he never
did, miss.

"You may be sure that I had enough to do to manage all the little
ones and answer all their questions; but never having seen a live lord
before, and wanting to know if the children would be like him before
so very long, I went quietly down stairs, and the biggest of my dears
peeped after me. And then, by favor of the parlor-maid--for they kept
neither butler nor footman now--I saw the Lord Castlewood, sitting at
his ease, with a glass of port-wine before him, and my sweet mistress
(the Captain's wife, and your mother, if you understand, miss) doing her
very best, thinking of her children, to please him and make the polite
to him. To me he seemed very much to be thawing to her--if you can
understand, miss, what my meaning is--and the Captain was looking at
them with a smile, as if it were just what he had hoped for. From my own
eyesight I can contradict the lies put about by nobody knows who, that
the father and the son were at hot words even then.

"And I even heard my master, when they went out at the door, vainly
persuading his father to take such a bed as they could offer him.
And good enough it would have been for ten lords; for I saw nothing
wonderful in him, nor fit to compare any way with the Captain. But he
would not have it, for no other reason of ill-will or temper, but only
because he had ordered his bed at the Moonstock Inn, where his coach and
four were resting.

"'I expect you to call me in the morning, George,' I heard him say, as
clear as could be, while his son was helping his coat on. 'I am glad I
have seen you. There are worse than you. And when the times get better,
I will see what I can do.'

"With him this meant more than it might have done; for he was not a man
of much promises, as you might tell by his face almost, with his nose
so stern, and his mouth screwed down, and the wrinkles the wrong way for
smiling. I could not tell what the Captain answered, for the door banged
on them, and it woke the baby, who was dreaming, perhaps, about his
lordship's face, and his little teeth gave him the wind on his chest,
and his lungs was like bellows--bless him!

"Well, that stopped me, Miss Erema, from being truly accurate in my
testimony. What with walking the floor, and thumping his back, and
rattling of the rings to please him--when they put me on the Testament,
cruel as they did, with the lawyers' eyes eating into me, and both my
ears buzzing with sorrow and fright, I may have gone too far, with my
heart in my mouth, for my mind to keep out of contradiction, wishful as
I was to tell the whole truth in a manner to hurt nobody. And without
any single lie or glaze of mine, I do assure you, miss, that I did more
harm than good; every body in the room--a court they called it, and no
bigger than my best parlor--one and all they were convinced that I would
swear black was white to save my master and mistress! And certainly I
would have done so, and the Lord in heaven thought the better of me, for
the sake of all they children, if I could have made it stick together,
as they do with practice."

At thought of the little good she had done, and perhaps the great
mischief, through excess of zeal, Mrs. Strouss was obliged to stop, and
put her hand to her side, and sigh. And eager as I was for every word
of this miserable tale, no selfish eagerness could deny her need of
refreshment, and even of rest; for her round cheeks were white, and her
full breast trembled. And now she was beginning to make snatches at my
hand, as if she saw things she could only tell thus.



CHAPTER XXIV

BETSY'S TALE--(Continued.)


"I am only astonished, my dear," said my nurse, as soon as she had had
some tea and toast, and scarcely the soft roe of a red herring, "that
you can put up so well, and abide with my instincts in the way you
do. None of your family could have done it, to my knowledge of their
dispositions, much less the baby that was next above you. But it often
comes about to go in turns like that; 'one, three, five, and seven is
sweet, while two, four, and six is a-squalling with their feet.' But
the Lord forgive me for an ill word of them, with their precious little
bodies washed, and laying in their patterns till the judgment-day.

"But putting by the words I said in the dirty little room they pleased
to call a 'court,' and the Testament so filthy that no lips could have
a hold of it, my meaning is to tell you, miss, the very things that
happened, so that you may fairly judge of them. The Captain came back
from going with his father, I am sure, in less than twenty minutes, and
smoking a cigar in his elegant way, quite happy and contented, for I saw
him down the staircase. As for sign of any haste about him, or wiping of
his forehead, or fumbling with his handkerchief, or being in a stew in
any sort of way--as the stupid cook who let him in declared, by reason
of her own having been at the beer-barrel--solemnly, miss, as I hope to
go to heaven, there was nothing of the sort about him.

"He went into the dining-room, and mistress, who had been up stairs to
see about the baby, went down to him; and there I heard them talking as
pleasant and as natural as they always were together. Not one of them
had the smallest sense of trouble hanging over them; and they put away
both the decanters and cruets, and came up to bed in their proper order,
the master stopping down just to finish his cigar and see to the doors
and the bringing up the silver, because there was no man-servant now.
And I heard him laughing at some little joke he made as he went into
the bedroom. A happier household never went to bed, nor one with better
hopes of a happy time to come. And the baby slept beside his parents in
his little cot, as his mother liked to have him, with his blessed mouth
wide open.

"Now we three (cook and Susan and myself) were accustomed to have a
good time of it whenever the master first came home and the mistress was
taken up with him. We used to count half an hour more in bed, without
any of that wicked bell-clack, and then go on to things according to
their order, without any body to say any thing. Accordingly we were all
snug in bed, and turning over for another tuck of sleep, when there came
a most vicious ringing of the outer bell. 'You get up, Susan,' I heard
the cook say, for there only was a door between us; and Susan said,
'Blest if I will! Only Tuesday you put me down about it when the baker
came.' Not a peg would either of them stir, no more than to call names
on one another; so I slipped on my things, with the bell going clatter
all the while, like the day of judgment. I felt it to be hard upon me,
and I went down cross a little--just enough to give it well to a body I
were not afraid of.

"But the Lord in His mercy remember me, miss! When I opened the door,
I had no blood left. There stood two men, with a hurdle on their
shoulders, and on the hurdle a body, with the head hanging down, and the
front of it slouching, like a sack that has been stolen from; and behind
it there was an authority with two buttons on his back, and he waited
for me to say something; but to do so was beyond me. Not a bit of
caution or of fear about my sham dress-up, as the bad folk put it
afterward; the whole of such thoughts was beyond me outright, and no
thought of any thing came inside me, only to wait and wonder.

"'This corpse belongeth here, as I am informed,' said the man, who
seemed to be the master of it, and was proud to be so. 'Young woman,
don't you please to stand like that, or every duffer in the parish will
be here, and the boys that come hankering after it. You be off!' he
cried out to a boy who was calling some more round the corner. 'Now,
young woman, we must come in if you please, and the least said the
soonest mended.'

"'Oh, but my mistress, my mistress!' I cried; 'and her time up, as nigh
as may be, any day or night before new moon. 'Oh, Mr. Constable, Mr.
Rural Polishman, take it to the tool shed, if you ever had a wife, Sir.'
Now even this was turned against us as if I had expected it. They said
that I must have known who it was, and to a certain length so I did,
miss, but only by the dress and the manner of the corpse, and lying with
an attitude there was no contradicting.

"I can not tell you now, my dear, exactly how things followed. My
mind was gone all hollow with the sudden shock upon it. However, I had
thought enough to make no noise immediate, nor tell the other foolish
girls, who would have set up bellowing. Having years to deal with little
ones brings knowledge of the rest to us. I think that I must have gone
to master's door, where Susan's orders were to put his shaving water
in a tin, and fetched him out, with no disturbance, only in his
dressing-gown. And when I told him what it was, his rosy color turned
like sheets, and he just said, 'Hush!' and nothing more. And guessing
what he meant, I ran and put my things on properly.

"But having time to think, the shock began to work upon me, and I was
fit for nothing when I saw the children smiling up with their tongues
out for their bread and milk, as they used to begin the day with. And
I do assure you, Miss Erema, my bitterest thought was of your coming,
though unknown whether male or female, but both most inconvenient then,
with things in such a state of things. You have much to answer for,
miss, about it; but how was you to help it, though?

"The tool-shed door was too narrow to let the hurdle and the body in,
and finding some large sea-kale pots standing out of use against the
door, the two men (who were tired with the weight and fright, I dare
say) set down their burden upon these, under a row of hollyhocks, at the
end of the row of bee-hives. And here they wiped their foreheads with
some rags they had for handkerchiefs, or one of them with his own
sleeve, I should say, and, gaining their breath, they began to talk with
the boldness of the sunrise over them. But Mr. Rural Polishman, as
he was called in those parts, was walking up and down on guard, and
despising of their foolish words.

"My master, the Captain, your father, miss, came out of a window and
down the cross-walk, while I was at the green door peeping, for I
thought that I might be wanted, if only to take orders what was to be
done inside. The constable stiffly touched his hat, and marched to the
head of the hurdle, and said,

"'Do you know this gentleman?'

"Your father took no more notice of him than if he had been a stiff
hollyhock, which he might have resembled if he had been good-looking.
The Captain thought highly of discipline always, and no kinder gentleman
could there be to those who gave his dues to him. But that man's voice
had a low and dirty impertinent sort of a twang with it. Nothing could
have been more unlucky. Every thing depended on that fellow in an
ignorant neighborhood like that; and his lordship, for such he was now,
of course, would not even deign to answer him. He stood over his head in
his upright way by a good foot, and ordered him here and there, as the
fellow had been expecting, I do believe, to order his lordship. And that
made the bitterest enemy of him, being newly sent into these parts,
and puffed up with authority. And the two miller's men could not help
grinning, for he had waved them about like a pair of dogs.

"But to suppose that my master 'was unmoved, and took it brutally' (as
that wretch of a fellow swore afterward), only shows what a stuck-up
dolt he was. For when my master had examined his father, and made his
poor body be brought in and spread on the couch in the dining-room, and
sent me hot-foot for old Dr. Diggory down at the bottom of Shoxford,
Susan peeped in through the crack of the door, with the cook to hold her
hand behind, and there she saw the Captain on his knees at the side of
his father's corpse, not saying a word, only with his head down. And
when the doctor came back with me, with his night-gown positive
under his coat, the first thing he said was, 'My dear Sir--my lord, I
mean--don't take on so; such things will always happen in this world;'
which shows that my master was no brute.

"Then the Captain stood up in his strength and height, without any pride
and without any shame, only in the power of a simple heart, and he said
words fit to hang him:

"'This is my doing! There is no one else to blame. If my father is dead,
I have killed him!'

"Several of us now were looking in, and the news going out like a
winnowing woman with no one to shut the door after her; our passage was
crowding with people that should have had a tar-brush in their faces.
And of course a good score of them ran away to tell that the Captain had
murdered his father. The milk-man stood there with his yoke and cans,
and his naily boots on our new oil-cloth, and, not being able to hide
himself plainly, he pulled out his slate and began to make his bill.

"'Away with you all!' your father said, coming suddenly out of the
dining-room, while the doctor was unbuttoning my lord, who was dead with
all his day clothes on; and every body brushed away like flies at the
depth of his voice and his stature. Then he bolted the door, with only
our own people and the doctor and the constable inside. Your mother was
sleeping like a lamb, as I could swear, having had a very tiring day the
day before, and being well away from the noise of the passage, as well
as at a time when they must sleep whenever sleep will come, miss. Bless
her gentle heart, what a blessing to be out of all that scare of it!

"All this time, you must understand, there was no sign yet what had
happened to his lordship, over and above his being dead. All of us
thought, if our minds made bold to think, that it must have pleased
the Lord to take his lordship either with an appleplexy or a sudden
heart-stroke, or, at any rate, some other gracious way not having any
flow of blood in it. But now, while your father was gone up stairs--for
he knew that his father was dead enough--to be sure that your mother was
quiet, and perhaps to smooth her down for trouble, and while I was run
away to stop the ranting of the children, old Dr. Diggory and that
rural officer were handling poor Lord Castlewood. They set him to their
liking, and they cut his clothes off--so Susan told me afterward--and
then they found why they were forced to do so, which I need not try
to tell you, miss. Only they found that he was not dead from any wise
visitation, but because he had been shot with a bullet through his
heart.

"Old Dr. Diggory came out shaking, and without any wholesome sense
to meet what had arisen, after all his practice with dead men, and
he called out 'Murder!' with a long thing in his hand, till my master
leaped down the stairs, twelve at a time, and laid his strong hand on
the old fool's mouth.

"'Would you kill my wife?' he said; 'you shall not kill my wife.'

"'Captain Castlewood,' the constable answered, pulling out his staff
importantly, 'consider yourself my prisoner.'

"The Captain could have throttled him with one hand, and Susan thought
he would have done it. But, instead of that, he said, 'Very well; do
your duty. But let me see what you mean by it.' Then he walked back
again to the body of his father, and saw that he had been murdered.

"But, oh, Miss Erema, you are so pale! Not a bit of food have you had
for hours. I ought not to have told you such a deal of it to once. Let
me undo all your things, my dear, and give you something cordial; and
then lie down and sleep a bit."

"No, thank you, nurse," I answered, calling all my little courage back.
"No sleep for me until I know every word. And to think of all my father
had to see and bear! I am not fit to be his daughter."



CHAPTER XXV

BETSY'S TALE--(Concluded.)


"Well, now," continued Mrs. Strouss, as soon as I could persuade her
to go on, "if I were to tell you every little thing that went on among
them, miss, I should go on from this to this day week, or I might say
this day fortnight, and then not half be done with it. And the worst of
it is that those little things make all the odds in a case of that sort,
showing what the great things were. But only a counselor at the Old
Bailey could make head or tail of the goings on that followed.

"For some reason of his own, unknown to any living being but himself,
whether it were pride (as I always said) or something deeper (as other
people thought), he refused to have any one on earth to help him, when
he ought to have had the deepest lawyer to be found. The constable
cautioned him to say nothing, as it seems is laid down in their orders,
for fear of crimination. And he smiled at this, with a high contempt,
very fine to see, but not bodily wise. But even that jack-in-office
could perceive that the poor Captain thought of his sick wife up stairs,
and his little children, ten times for one thought he ever gave to his
own position. And yet I must tell you that he would have no denial, but
to know what it was that had killed his parent. When old Dr. Diggory's
hands were shaking so that his instrument would not bite on the thing
lodged in his lordship's back, after passing through and through him,
and he was calling for somebody to run for his assistant, who do you
think did it for him, Miss Erema? As sure as I sit here, the Captain!
His face was like a rock, and his hands no less; and he said, 'Allow
me, doctor. I have been in action.' And he fetched out the bullet--which
showed awful nerve, according to my way of thinking--as if he had been a
man with three rows of teeth.

"'This bullet is just like those of my own pistol!' he cried, and he
sat down hard with amazement. You may suppose how this went against him,
when all he desired was to know and tell the truth; and people said that
of course he got it out, after a bottleful of doctors failed, because he
knew best how it was put in.'

"'I shall now go and see the place, if you please, or whether you please
or not,' my master said. 'Constable, you may come and point it out,
unless you prefer going to your breakfast. My word is enough that I
shall not run away. Otherwise, as you have acted on your own authority,
I shall act on mine, and tie you until you have obtained a warrant. Take
your choice, my man; and make it quickly, while I offer it.'

"The rural polishman stared at this, being used on the other hand to be
made much of. But seeing how capable the Captain was of acting up to
any thing, he made a sulky scrape, and said, 'Sir, as you please for the
present,' weighting his voice on those last three words, as much as to
say, 'Pretty soon you will be handcuffed.' 'Then,' said my master, 'I
shall also insist on the presence of two persons, simply to use their
eyes without any fear or favor. One is my gardener, a very honest man,
but apt to be late in the morning. The other is a faithful servant, who
has been with us for several years. Their names are Jacob Rigg and Betsy
Bowen. You may also bring two witnesses, if you choose. And the miller's
men, of course, will come. But order back all others.'

"'That is perfectly fair and straightforward, my lord,' the constable
answered, falling naturally into abeyance to orders. 'I am sure that all
of us wishes your lordship kindly out of this rum scrape. But my duty is
my duty.'

"With a few more words we all set forth, six in number, and no more; for
the constable said that the miller's men, who had first found the late
Lord Castlewood, were witnesses enough for him. And Jacob Rigg, whose
legs were far apart (as he said) from trenching celery, took us through
the kitchen-garden, and out at a gap, which saved every body knowing.

"Then we passed through a copse or two, and across a meadow, and then
along the turnpike-road, as far as now I can remember. And along that we
went to a stile on the right, without any house for a long way off. And
from that stile a foot-path led down a slope of grass land to the little
river, and over a hand-bridge, and up another meadow full of trees and
bushes, to a gate which came out into the road again a little to this
side of the Moonstock Inn, saving a quarter of a mile of road, which ran
straight up the valley and turned square at the stone bridge to get to
the same inn.

"I can not expect to be clear to you, miss, though I see it all now as
I saw it then, every tree, and hump, and hedge of it; only about the
distances from this to that, and that to the other, they would be
beyond me. You must be on the place itself; and I never could carry
distances--no, nor even clever men, I have heard my master say. But when
he came to that stile he stopped and turned upon all of us clearly, and
as straight as any man of men could be. 'Here I saw my father last, at
a quarter past ten o'clock last night, or within a few minutes of that
time.' I wished to see him to his inn, but he would not let me do so, and
he never bore contradiction. He said that he knew the way well, having
fished more than thirty years ago up and down this stream. He crossed
this stile, and we shook hands over it, and the moon being bright, I
looked into his face, and he said, 'My boy, God bless you!' Knowing his
short ways, I did not even look after him, but turned away, and went
straight home along this road. Upon my word as an Englishman, and as an
officer of her Majesty, that is all I know of it. Now let us go on to
the--to the other place.

"We all of us knew in our hearts, I am sure, that the Captain spoke
the simple truth, and his face was grand as he looked at us. But the
constable thought it his duty to ask,

"'Did you hear no sound of a shot, my lord? For he fell within a hundred
yards of this.'

"'I heard no sound of any shot whatever. I heard an owl hooting as
I went home, and then the rattle of a heavy wagon, and the bells of
horses. I have said enough. Let us go forward.'

"We obeyed him at once; and even the constable looked right and left, as
if he had been wrong. He signed to the miller's man to lead the way,
and my lord walked proudly after him. The path was only a little narrow
track, with the grass, like a front of hair, falling over it on the
upper side and on the under, dropping away like side curls; such a
little path that I was wondering how a great lord could walk over it.
Then we came down a steep place to a narrow bridge across a shallow
river--abridge made of only two planks and a rail, with a prop or two to
carry them. And one end of the handrail was fastened into a hollow and
stubby old hawthorn-tree, overhanging the bridge and the water a good
way. And just above this tree, and under its shadow, there came a dry
cut into the little river, not more than a yard or two above the wooden
bridge, a water-trough such as we have in Wales, miss, for the water to
run in, when the farmer pleases; but now there was no water in it, only
gravel.

"The cleverest of the miller's men, though, neither of them had much
intellect, stepped down at a beck from the constable, right beneath the
old ancient tree, and showed us the marks on the grass and the gravel
made by his lordship where he fell and lay. And it seemed that he must
have fallen off the bridge, yet not into the water, but so as to have
room for his body, if you see, miss, partly on the bank, and partly in
the hollow of the meadow trough.

"'Have you searched the place well?' the Captain asked. 'Have you found
any weapon or implement?'

"'We have found nothing but the corpse, so far,' the constable answered,
in a surly voice, not liking to be taught his business. 'My first duty
was to save life, if I could. These men, upon finding the body, ran for
me, and knowing who it was, I came with it to your house.'

"'You acted for the best, my man. Now search the place carefully, while
I stand here. I am on my parole, I shall not run away. Jacob, go down
and help them.'

"Whether from being in the army, or what, your father always spoke in
such a way that the most stiff-neckedest people began without thinking
to obey him. So the constable and the rest went down, while the Captain
and I stood upon the plank, looking at the four of them.

"For a long time they looked about, according to their attitudes,
without finding any thing more than the signs of the manner in which the
poor lord fell, and of these the constable pulled out a book and made
a pencil memorial. But presently Jacob, a spry sort of man, cried,
'Hulloa! whatever have I got hold of here? Many a good craw-fish have I
pulled out from this bank when the water comes down the gully, but never
one exactly like this here afore.'

"'Name of the Lord!' cried the constable, jumping behind the hawthorn
stump; 'don't point it at me, you looby! It's loaded, loaded one barrel,
don't you see? Put it down, with the muzzle away from me.'

"'Hand it to me, Jacob,' the Captain said. 'You understand a gun, and
this goes off just the same.' Constable Jobbins have no fear. 'Yes, it
is exactly as I thought. This pistol is one of the double-barreled pair
which I bought to take to India. The barrels are rifled; it shoots
as true as any rifle, and almost as hard up to fifty yards. The right
barrel has been fired, the other is still loaded. The bullet I took from
my father's body most certainly came from this pistol.'

"'Can 'e say, can 'e say then, who done it, master?' asked Jacob, a man
very sparing of speech, but ready at a beck to jump at constable and
miller's men, if only law was with him. 'Can 'e give a clear account,
and let me chuck 'un in the river?'

"'No, Jacob, I can do nothing of the kind,' your father answered; while
the rural man came up and faced things, not being afraid of a fight half
so much as he was of an accident; by reason of his own mother having
been blown up by a gunpowder start at Dartford, yet came down all
right, miss, and had him three months afterward, according to his
own confession; nevertheless, he came up now as if he had always been
upright, in the world, and he said, 'My lord, can you explain all this?'

"Your father looked at him with one of his strange gazes, as if he were
measuring the man while trying his own inward doing of his own mind.
Proud as your father was, as proud as ever can be without cruelty, it
is my firm belief, Miss Erema, going on a woman's judgment, that if the
man's eyes had come up to my master's sense of what was virtuous, my
master would have up and told him the depth and contents of his mind and
heart, although totally gone beyond him.

"But Jobbins looked back at my lord with a grin, and his little eyes,
hard to put up with. 'Have you nothing to say, my lord? Then I am
afeared I must ask you just to come along of me.' And my master went
with him, miss, as quiet as a lamb; which Jobbins said, and even Jacob
fancied, was a conscience sign of guilt.

"Now after I have told you all this, Miss Erema, you know very nearly as
much as I do. To tell how the grief was broken to your mother, and what
her state of mind was, and how she sat up on the pillows and cried,
while things went on from bad to worse, and a verdict of 'willful
murder' was brought against your father by the crowner's men, and you
come headlong, without so much as the birds in the ivy to chirp about
you, right into the thick of the worst of it. I do assure you, Miss
Erema, when I look at your bright eyes and clear figure, the Lord in
heaven, who has made many cripples, must have looked down special to
have brought you as you are. For trouble upon trouble fell in heaps,
faster than I can wipe my eyes to think. To begin with, all the servants
but myself and gardener Jacob ran away. They said that the old lord
haunted the house, and walked with his hand in the middle of his heart,
pulling out a bullet if he met any body, and sighing 'murder' three
times, till every hair was crawling. I took it on myself to fetch the
Vicar of the parish to lay the evil spirit, as they do in Wales. A nice
kind gentleman he was as you could see, and wore a velvet skull-cap, and
waited with his legs up. But whether he felt that the power was not
in him, or whether his old lordship was frightened of the Church, they
never made any opportunity between them to meet and have it out, miss.

"Then it seemed as if Heaven, to avenge his lordship, rained down
pestilence upon that house. A horrible disease, the worst I ever met,
broke out upon the little harmless dears, the pride of my heart and of
every body's eyes, for lovelier or better ones never came from heaven.
They was all gone to heaven in a fortnight and three days, and laid in
the church-yard at one another's side, with little beds of mould to the
measure of their stature, and their little carts and drums, as they made
me promise, ready for the judgment-day. Oh, my heart was broken, miss,
my heart was broken! I cried so, I thought I could never cry more.

"But when your dear mother, who knew nothing of all this (for we put all
their illness, by the doctor's orders, away at the further end of the
house), when she was a little better of grievous pain and misery (for
being so upset her time was hard), when she sat up on the pillow,
looking like a bride almost, except that she had what brides hasn't--a
little red thing in white flannel at her side--then she says to me, 'I
am ready, Betsy; it is high time for all of them to see their little
sister. They always love the baby so, whenever there is a new one. And
they are such men and women to it. They have been so good this time
that I have never heard them once. And I am sure that I can trust them,
Betsy, not to make the baby cry. I do so long to see the darlings. Now
do not even whisper to them not to make a noise. They are too good to
require it; and it would hurt their little feelings.'

"I had better have been shot, my dear, according as the old lord was,
than have the pain that went through all my heart, to see the mother so.
She sat up, leaning on one arm, with the hand of the other round your
little head, and her beautiful hair was come out of its loops, and the
color in her cheeks was like a shell. Past the fringe of the curtain,
and behind it too, her soft bright eyes were a-looking here and there
for the first to come in of her children. The Lord only knows what lies
I told her, so as to be satisfied without them. First I said they were
all gone for a walk; and then that the doctor had ordered them away; and
then that they had got the measles. That last she believed, because it
was worse than what I had said before of them; and she begged to see Dr.
Diggory about it, and I promised that she should as soon as he had done
his dinner. And then, with a little sigh, being very weak, she went down
into her nest again, with only you to keep her company.

"Well, that was bad enough, as any mortal sufferer might have said;
enough for one day at any rate. But there was almost worse to come. For
when I was having a little sit down stairs, with my supper and half pint
of ale (that comes like drawing a long breath to us when spared out of
sickrooms, miss), and having no nursery now on my mind, was thinking of
all the sad business, with only a little girl in the back kitchen come
in to muck up the dishes, there appeared a good knock at the garden
door, and I knew it for the thumb of the Captain. I locked the young
girl up, by knowing what their tongues are, and then I let your father
in, and the candle-sight of him made my heart go low.

"He had come out of prison; and although not being tried, his clothes
were still in decency, they had great holes in them, and the gloss all
gone to a smell of mere hedges and ditches. The hat on his head was
quite out of the fashion, even if it could be called a hat at all, and
his beautiful beard had no sign of a comb, and he looked as old again as
he had looked a month ago.

"'I know all about it. You need not be afraid,' he said, as I took him
to the breakfast-room, where no one up stairs could hear us. 'I know
that my children are all dead and buried, except the one that was not
born yet. Ill news flies quick. I know all about it. George, Henrietta,
Jack, Alf, little Vi, and Tiny. I have seen their graves and counted
them, while the fool of a policeman beat his gloves through the hedge
within a rod of me. Oh yes, I have much to be thankful for. My life is
in my own hand now.'

"'Oh, master; oh, Captain; oh, my lord!' I cried; 'for the sake of God
in heaven, don't talk like that. Think of your sweet wife, your dear
lady.'

"'Betsy,' he answered, with his eyes full upon me, noble, yet frightful
to look at, 'I am come to see my wife. Go and let her know it, according
to your own discretion.'

"My discretion would have been not to let him see her, but go on and
write to her from foreign countries, with the salt sea between them; but
I give you my word that I had no discretion, but from pity and majesty
obeyed him. I knew that he must have broken prison, and by good rights
ought to be starving. But I could no more offer him the cold ham and
pullet than take him by his beard and shake him.

"'Is he come, at last, at last?' my poor mistress said, whose wits were
wandering after her children. 'At last, at last! Then he will find them
all.'

"'Yes, ma'am, at last, at the last he will,' I answered, while I thought
of the burial service, which I had heard three times in a week--for the
little ones went to their graves in pairs to save ceremony; likewise of
the Epistle of Saint Paul, which is not like our Lord's way of talking
at all, but arguing instead of comforting. And not to catch her up in
that weak state, I said, 'He will find every one of them, ma'am.'

"'Oh, but I want him for himself, for himself, as much as all the rest
put together,' my dear lady said, without listening to me, but putting
her hand to her ear to hearken for even so much as a mouse on the
stairs. 'Do bring him, Betsy; only bring him, Betsy, and then let me go
where my children are.'

"I was surprised at her manner of speaking, which I would not have
allowed to her, but more than all about her children, which she could
only have been dreaming yet, for nobody else came nigh her except only
me, miss, and you, miss, and for you to breathe words was impossible.
All you did was to lie very quiet, tucked up into your mother's side;
and as regular as the time-piece went, wide came your eyes and your
mouth to be fed. If your nature had been cross or squally, 'baby's
coffin No. 7' would have come after all the other six, which the thief
of a carpenter put down on his bill as if it was so many shavings.

"Well, now, to tell you the downright truth, I have a lot of work to do
to-morrow, miss, with three basketfuls of washing coming home, and a
man about a tap that leaks and floods the inside of the fender; and if
I were to try to put before you the way that those two for the last time
of their lives went on to one another--the one like a man and the other
like a woman, full of sobs and choking--my eyes would be in such a state
to-morrow that the whole of them would pity and cheat me. And I ought to
think of you as well, miss, who has been sadly harrowed listening when
you was not born yet. And to hear what went on, full of weeping, when
yourself was in the world, and able to cry for yourself, and all done
over your own little self, would leave you red eyes and no spirit for
the night, and no appetite in the morning; and so I will pass it all
over, if you please, and let him go out of the backdoor again.

"This he was obliged to do quick, and no mistake, glad as he might
have been to say more words, because the fellows who call themselves
officers, without any commission, were after him. False it was to say,
as was said, that he got out of Winchester jail through money. That
story was quite of a piece with the rest. His own strength and skill it
was that brought him out triumphantly, as the scratches on his hands and
cheeks might show. He did it for the sake of his wife, no doubt. When
he heard that the children were all in their graves, and their mother
in the way to follow them, madness was better than his state of mind, as
the officers told me when they could not catch him--and sorry they would
have been to do it, I believe.

"To overhear my betters is the thing of all things most against my
nature; and my poor lady being unfit to get up, there was nothing said
on the landing, which is the weakest part of gentlefolks. They must have
said 'Good-by' to one another quite in silence, and the Captain, as firm
a man as ever lived, had lines on his face that were waiting for tears,
if nature should overcome bringing up. Then I heard the words, 'for my
sake,' and the other said, 'for your sake,' a pledge that passed between
them, making breath more long than life is. But when your poor father
was by the back-door, going out toward the woods and coppices, he turned
sharp round, and he said, 'Betsy Bowen!' and I answered, 'Yes, at
your service, Sir.' 'You have been the best woman in the world,' he
said--'the bravest, best, and kindest. I leave my wife and my last child
to you. The Lord has been hard on me, but He will spare me those two. I
do hope and believe He will.'

"We heard a noise of horses in the valley, and the clank of swords--no
doubt the mounted police from Winchester a-crossing of the Moonstock
Bridge to search our house for the runaway. And the Captain took my
hand, and said, 'I trust them to you. Hide the clothes I took off, that
they may not know I have been here. I trust my wife and little babe to
you, and may God bless you, Betsy!'

"He had changed all his clothes, and he looked very nice, but a sadder
face was never seen. As he slipped through the hollyhocks I said to
myself, 'There goes a broken-hearted man, and he leaves a broken heart
behind.' And your dear mother died on the Saturday night. Oh my! oh my!
how sad it was!"



CHAPTER XXVI

AT THE BANK


In telling that sad tale my faithful and soft-hearted nurse had often
proved her own mistake in saying, as she did, that tears can ever be
exhausted. And I, for my part, though I could scarcely cry for eager
listening, was worse off perhaps than if I had wetted each sad fact as
it went by. At any rate, be it this way or that, a heavy and sore
heart was left me, too distracted for asking questions, and almost too
depressed to grieve.

In the morning Mrs. Strouss was bustling here and there and every where,
and to look at her nice Welsh cheeks and aprons, and to hear how she
scolded the butcher's boy, nobody would for a moment believe that her
heart was deeper than her skin, as the saying of the west country
is. Major Hockin had been to see me last night, for he never forgot a
promise, and had left me in good hands, and now he came again in the
morning. According to his usual way of taking up an opinion, he would
not see how distracted I was, and full of what I had heard overnight,
but insisted on dragging me off to the bank, that being in his opinion
of more importance than old stories. I longed to ask Betsy some
questions which had been crowding into my mind as she spoke, and while
I lay awake at night; however, I was obliged to yield to the business of
the morning, and the good Major's zeal and keen knowledge of the world;
and he really gave me no time to think.

"Yes, I understand all that as well as if I had heard every word of it,"
he said, when he had led me helpless into the Hansom cab he came in, and
had slammed down the flood-gates in front of us. "You must never think
twice of what old women say" (Mrs. Strouss was some twenty years younger
than himself); "they always go prating and finding mares'-nests, and
then they always cry. Now did she cry, Erema?"

I would have given a hundred dollars to be able to say, "No, not one
drop;" but the truth was against me, and I said, "How could she help
it?"

"Exactly!" the Major exclaimed, so loudly that the cabman thought he was
ordered to stop. "No, go on, cabby, if your horse can do it. My dear, I
beg your pardon, but you are so very simple! You have not been among the
eye-openers of the west. This comes of the obsolete Uncle Sam."

"I would rather be simple than 'cute!'" I replied; "and my own Uncle Sam
will be never obsolete."

Silly as I was, I could never speak of the true Uncle Sam in this far
country without the bright shame of a glimmer in my eyes; and with this,
which I cared not to hide, I took my companion's hand and stood upon the
footway of a narrow and crowded lane.

"Move on! move on!" cried a man with a high-crowned hat japanned at
intervals, and, wondering at his rudeness to a lady, I looked at him.
But he only said, "Now move on, will you?" without any wrath, and as if
he were vexed at our littleness of mind in standing still. Nobody heeded
him any more than if he had said, "I am starving," but it seemed a rude
thing among ladies. Before I had time to think more about this--for
I always like to think of things--I was led through a pair of narrow
swinging doors, and down a close alley between two counters full of
people paying and receiving money. The Major, who always knew how to get
on, found a white-haired gentleman in a very dingy corner, and whispered
to him in a confidential way, though neither had ever seen the other
before, and the white-haired gentleman gazed at me as sternly as if I
were a bank-note for at least a thousand pounds; and then he said, "Step
this way, young lady. Major Hockin, step this way, Sir."

The young lady "stepped that way" in wonder as to what English English
is, and then we were shown into a sacred little room, where the daylight
had glass reflectors for it, if it ever came to use them. But as it
cared very little to do this, from angular disabilities, three bright
gas-lights were burning in soft covers, and fed the little room with a
rich, sweet glow. And here shone one of the partners of the bank, a very
pleasant-looking gentleman, and very nicely dressed.

"Major Hockin," he said, after looking at the card, "will you kindly sit
down, while I make one memorandum? I had the pleasure of knowing your
uncle well--at least I believe that the late Sir Rufus was your uncle."

"Not so," replied the Major, well pleased, however. "I fear that I am
too old to have had any uncle lately. Sir Rufus Hockin was my first
cousin."

"Oh, indeed! To be sure, I should have known it, but Sir Rufus being
much your senior, the mistake was only natural. Now what can I do to
serve you, or perhaps this young lady--Miss Hockin, I presume?"

"No," said his visitor, "not Miss Hockin. I ought to have introduced
her, but for having to make my own introduction. Mr. Shovelin, this lady
is Miss Erema Castlewood, the only surviving child of the late Captain
George Castlewood, properly speaking, Lord Castlewood."

Mr. Shovelin had been looking at me with as much curiosity as good
manners and his own particular courtesy allowed. And I fancied that he
felt that I could not be a Hockin.

"Oh, dear, dear me!" was all he said, though he wanted to say, "God
bless me!" or something more sudden and stronger. "Lord Castlewood's
daughter--poor George Castlewood! My dear young lady, is it possible?"

"Yes, I am my father's child," I said; "and I am proud to hear that I am
like him."

"That you well may be," he answered, putting on his spectacles. "You are
astonished at my freedom, perhaps; you will allow for it, or at least,
you will not be angry with me, when you know that your father was my
dearest friend at Harrow; and that when his great trouble fell upon
him--"

Here Mr. Shovelin stopped, as behooves a man who begins to outrun
himself. He could not tell me that it was himself who had found all the
money for my father's escape, which cost much cash as well as much good
feeling. Neither did I, at the time, suspect it, being all in the dark
upon such points. Not knowing what to say, I looked from the banker to
the Major, and back again.

"Can you tell me the exact time?" the latter asked. "I am due in the
Temple at 12.30, and I never am a minute late, whatever happens."

"You will want a swift horse," Mr. Shovelin answered, "or else this will
be an exception to your rule. It is twenty-one minutes past twelve now."

"May I leave my charge to you, then, for a while? She will be very
quiet; she is always so. Erema, will you wait for me?"

I was not quick enough then to see that this was arranged between them.
Major Hockin perceived that Mr. Shovelin wished to have a talk with me
about dearer matters than money, having children of his own, and being
(as his eyes and forehead showed) a man of peculiar views, perhaps, but
clearly of general good-will.

"In an hour, in an hour, in less than an hour"--the Major intensified
his intentions always--"in three-quarters of an hour I shall be back.
Meanwhile, my dear, you will sit upon a stool, and not say a word, nor
make any attempt to do any thing every body is not used to."

This vexed me, as if I were a savage here; and I only replied with a
very gentle bow, being glad to see his departure; for Major Hockin was
one of those people, so often to be met with, whom any one likes or
dislikes according to the changes of their behavior. But Mr. Shovelin
was different from that.

"Miss Castlewood, take this chair," he said; "a hard one, but better
than a stool, perhaps. Now how am I to talk to you--as an inquirer upon
business matters, or as the daughter of my old friend? Your smile is
enough. Well, and you must talk to me in the same unreasonable manner.
That being clearly established between us, let us proceed to the
next point. Your father, my old friend, wandered from the track, and
unfortunately lost his life in a desolate part of America."

"No; oh no. It was nothing like that. He might have been alive, and here
at this moment, if I had not drunk and eaten every bit and drop of his."

"Now don't, my dear child, don't be so romantic--I mean, look at things
more soberly. You did as you were ordered, I have no doubt; George
Castlewood always would have that. He was a most commanding man. You do
not quite resemble him in that respect, I think."

"Oh, but did he do it, did he do it?" I cried out. "You were at school
with him, and knew his nature. Was it possible for him to do it, Sir?"

"As possible as it is for me to go down to Sevenoaks and shoot my dear
old father, who is spending a green and agreeable old age there. Not
that your grandfather, if I may say it without causing pain to you, was
either green or agreeable. He was an uncommonly sharp old man; I might
even say a hard one. As you never saw him, you will not think me rude in
saying that much. Your love, of course, is for your father; and if your
father had had a father of larger spirit about money, he might have
been talking to me pleasantly now, instead of--instead of all these sad
things."

"Please not to slip away from me," I said, bluntly, having so often met
with that. "You believe, as every good person does, that my father was
wholly innocent. But do tell me who could have done it instead. Somebody
must have done it; that seems clear."

"Yes," replied Mr. Shovelin, with a look of calm consideration;
"somebody did it, undoubtedly; and that makes the difficulty of the
whole affair. 'Cui bono,' as the lawyers say. Two persons only could
have had any motive, so far as wealth and fortune go. The first and
most prominent, your father, who, of course, would come into every thing
(which made the suspicion so hot and strong); and the other, a very nice
gentleman, whom it is wholly impossible to suspect."

"Are you sure of that? People have more than suspected--they have
condemned--my father. After that, I can suspect any body. Who is it?
Please to tell me."

"It is the present Lord Castlewood, as he is beginning to be called.
He would not claim the title, or even put forward his right in any way,
until he had proof of your dear father's death; and even then he behaved
so well--"

"He did it! he did it!" I cried, in hot triumph. "My father's name shall
be clear of it. Can there be any doubt that he did it? How very simple
the whole of it becomes! Nothing astonishes me, except the stupidity of
people. He had every thing to gain, and nothing to lose--a bad man, no
doubt--though I never heard of him. And putting it all on my father, of
course, to come in himself, and abide his time, till the misery killed
my father. How simple, how horribly simple, it becomes!"

"You are much too quick, too hot, too sudden. Excuse me a minute"--as a
silver bell struck--"I am wanted in the next room. But before I go, let
me give you a glass of cold water, and beg you to dismiss that new idea
from your mind."

I could see, as I took with a trembling hand the water he poured out for
me, that Mr. Shovelin was displeased. His kind and handsome face grew
hard. He had taken me for a nice young lady, never much above the
freezing-point, and he had found me boil over in a moment. I was sorry
to have grieved him; but if he had heard Betsy Bowen's story, and seen
her tell it, perhaps he would have allowed for me. I sat down again,
having risen in my warmth, and tried to quiet and command myself by
thinking of the sad points only. Of these there were plenty to make
pictures of, the like of which had kept me awake all night; and I knew
by this time, from finding so much more of pity than real sympathy, that
men think a woman may well be all tears, but has no right to even the
shadow of a frown. That is their own prerogative.

And so, when Mr. Shovelin returned, with a bundle of papers which had
also vexed him--to judge by the way in which he threw them down--I spoke
very mildly, and said that I was very sorry for my display of violence,
but that if he knew all, he would pardon me; and he pardoned me in a
moment.

"I was going to tell you, my dear Miss Castlewood," he continued,
gently, "that your sudden idea must be dismissed, for reasons which I
think will content you. In the first place, the present Lord Castlewood
is, and always has been, an exemplary man, of great piety and true
gentleness; in the next place, he is an invalid, who can not walk a mile
with a crutch to help him, and so he has been for a great many years;
and lastly, if you have no faith in the rest, he was in Italy at the
time, and remained there for some years afterward. There he received and
sheltered your poor father after his sad calamity, and was better than a
brother to him, as your father, in a letter to me, declared. So you see
that you must acquit him."

"That is not enough. I would beg his pardon on my knees, since he helped
my father, for he must have thought him innocent. Now, Mr. Shovelin, you
were my father's friend, and you are such a clever man--"

"How do you know that, young lady? What a hurry you are always in!"

"Oh, there can be no doubt about it. But you must not ask reasons, if
I am so quick. Now please to tell me what your own conclusion is. I can
talk of it calmly now; yes, quite calmly, because I never think of any
thing else. Only tell me what you really believe, and I will keep it
most strictly to myself."

"I am sure you will do that," he answered, smiling, "not only from the
power of your will, my dear, but also because I have nothing to say. At
first I was strongly inclined to believe (knowing, from my certainty of
your father, that the universal opinion must be wrong) that the old lord
had done it himself; for he always had been of a headstrong and violent
nature, which I am sure will never re-appear in you. But the whole
of the evidence went against this, and little as I think of evidence,
especially at an inquest, your father's behavior confirmed what was
sworn to. Your father knew that his father had not made away with
himself in a moment of passion, otherwise he was not the man to break
prison and fly trial. He would have said, boldly, 'I am guiltless; there
are many things that I can not explain; I can not help that; I will
face it out. Condemn me, if you like, and I will suffer.' From your own
remembrance of your father's nature, is not that certainly the course he
would have taken?"

"I have not an atom of doubt about it. His flight and persistent dread
of trial puzzle me beyond imagination. Of his life he was perfectly
reckless, except, at least, for my sake."

"I know that he was," Mr. Shovelin replied; "as a boy he was wonderfully
fearless. As a man, with a sweet wife and a lot of children, he might
have begun to be otherwise. But when all those were gone, and only a
poor little baby left--"

"Yes, I suppose I was all that."

"Forgive me. I am looking back at you. Who could dream that you would
ever even live, without kith or kin to care for you? Your life was saved
by some good woman who took you away to Wales. But when you were such a
poor little relic, and your father could scarcely have seen you, to
have such a mite left must have been almost a mockery of happiness. That
motive could not have been strong enough to prevent a man of proud honor
from doing what honor at once demanded. Your father would have returned
and surrendered as soon as he heard of his dear wife's death, if in the
balance there had been only you."

"Yes, Mr. Shovelin, perhaps he would. I was never very much as a
counter-balance. Yet my father loved me." I could have told him of the
pledge exchanged--"For my sake," and, "Yes, for your sake," with love
and wedded honor set to fight cold desolate repute--but I did not say a
word about it.

"He loved you afterward, of course. But a man who has had seven children
is not enthusiastic about a baby. There must have been a larger motive."

"But when I was the only one left alive. Surely I became valuable then.
I can not have been such a cipher."

"Yes, for a long time you would have been," replied the Saturnian
banker. "I do not wish to disparage your attractions when you were a
fortnight old. They may have begun already to be irresistible. Excuse
me; you have led me into the light vein, when speaking of a most sad
matter. You must blame your self-assertion for it. All I wish to convey
to you is my belief that something wholly unknown to us, some dark
mystery of which we have no inkling, lies at the bottom of this terrible
affair. Some strange motive there must have been, strong enough even
to overcome all ordinary sense of honor, and an Englishman's pride in
submitting to the law, whatever may be the consequence. Consider that
his 'flight from justice,' as it was called, of course, by every one,
condemned his case and ruined his repute. Even for that he would not
have cared so much as for his own sense of right. And though he was a
very lively fellow, as I first remember him, full of tricks and jokes,
and so on, which in this busy age are out of date, I am certain that he
always had a stern sense of right. One never knows how love affairs and
weakness about children may alter almost any man; but my firm conviction
is that my dear old school-fellow, George Castlewood, even with a wife
and lovely children hanging altogether upon his life, not only would
not have broken jail, but would calmly have given up his body to be
hanged--pardon me, my dear, for putting it so coarsely--if there had not
been something paramount to override even apparent honor. What it can
have been I have no idea, and I presume you have none."

"None whatever," I said at once, in answer to his inquiring gaze. "I am
quite taken by surprise; I never even thought of such a thing. It has
always seemed to me so natural that my dear father, being shamefully
condemned, because appearances were against him, and nobody could enter
into him, should, for the sake of his wife and children, or even of one
child like me, depart or banish himself, or emigrate, or, as they might
call it, run away. Knowing that he never could have a fair trial, it was
the only straightforward and good and affectionate thing for him to do."

"You can not see things as men see them. We must not expect it of you,"
Mr. Shovelin answered, with a kind but rather too superior smile, which
reminded me a little of dear Uncle Sam when he listened to what, in his
opinion, was only female reason; "but, dear me, here is Major Hockin
come! Punctuality is the soul of business."

"So I always declare," cried the Major, who was more than three-quarters
of an hour late, for which in my heart I thanked him. "My watch keeps
time to a minute, Sir, and its master to a second. Well, I hope you
have settled all questions of finance, and endowed my young maid with a
fortune."

"So far from that," Mr. Shovelin replied, in a tone very different from
that he used to me, "we have not even said one word of business; all
that has been left for your return. Am I to understand that you are by
appointment or relationship the guardian of this young lady?"

"God forbid!" cried Major Hockin, shortly. I thought it very rude of
him, yet I could not help smiling to see how he threw his glasses up and
lifted his wiry crest of hair. "Not that she is bad, I mean, but good,
very good; indeed, I may say the very best girl ever known outside of my
own family. My cousin, Colonel Gundry, who owns an immense estate in
the most auriferous district of all California, but will not spoil his
splendid property by mining, he will--he will tell you the very same
thing, Sir."

"I am very glad to hear it," said the banker, smiling at me, while I
wondered what it was, but hoped that it meant my praises. "Now I really
fear that I must be very brief, though the daughter of my oldest friend
may well be preferred to business. But now we will turn at once to
business, if you please."



CHAPTER XXVII

COUSIN MONTAGUE


Mr. Shovelin went to a corner of the room, which might be called his
signal-box, having a little row of port-holes like a toy frigate or
accordion, and there he made sounds which brought steps very promptly,
one clerk carrying a mighty ledger, and the other a small strong-box.

"No plate," Major Hockin whispered to me, shaking his gray crest with
sorrow; "but there may be diamonds, you know, Erema. One ounce of
diamonds is worth a ton of plate."

"No," said Mr. Shovelin, whose ears were very keen, "I fear that
you will find nothing of mercantile value. Thank you, Mr. Robinson;
by-and-by perhaps we shall trouble you. Strictly speaking, perhaps I
should require the presence of your father's lawyer, or of some one
producing probate, ere I open this box, Miss Castlewood. But having you
here, and Major Hockin, and knowing what I do about the matter (which is
one of personal confidence), I will dispense with formalities. We have
given your father's solicitor notice of this deposit, and requested
his attention, but he never has deigned to attend to it; so now we will
dispense with him. You see that the seal is unbroken; you know your
father's favorite seal, no doubt. The key is nothing; it was left to my
charge. You wish that I should open this?"

Certainly I did, and the banker split the seal with an ebony-handled
paper-knife, and very soon unlocked the steel-ribbed box, whose weight
was chiefly of itself. Some cotton-wool lay on the top to keep the
all-penetrative dust away, and then a sheet of blue foolscap paper,
partly covered with clear but crooked writing, and under that some
little twists of silver paper, screwed as if there had been no time
to tie them, and a packet of letters held together by a glittering
bracelet.

"Poor fellow!" Mr. Shovelin said, softly, while I held my breath, and
the Major had the courtesy to be silent. "This is his will; of no
value, I fear, in a pecuniary point of view, but of interest to you his
daughter. Shall I open it, Miss Castlewood, or send it to his lawyers?"

"Open it, and never think of them," said I. "Like the rest, they have
forsaken him. Please to read it to yourself, and then tell us."

"Oh, I wish I had known this before!" cried the banker, after a rapid
glance or two. "Very kind, very flattering, I am sure! Yes, I will do my
duty by him; I wish there was more to be done in the case. He has left
me sole executor, and trustee of all his property, for the benefit of
his surviving child. Yet he never gave me the smallest idea of expecting
me to do this for him. Otherwise, of course, I should have had this old
box opened years ago."

"We must look at things as they are," said Major Hockin, for I could say
nothing. "The question is, what do you mean to do now?"

"Nothing whatever," said the banker, crisply, being displeased at the
other's tone; and then, seeing my surprise, he addressed himself to
me: "Nothing at present, but congratulate myself upon my old friend's
confidence, and, as Abernethy said, 'take advice.' A banker must never
encroach upon the province of the lawyer. But so far as a layman may
judge, Major Hockin, I think you will have to transfer to me the care of
this young lady."

"I shall be only too happy, I assure you," the Major answered,
truthfully. "My wife has a great regard for her, and so have I--the very
greatest, the strongest regard, and warm parental feelings; as you know,
Erema. But--but, I am not so young as I was; and I have to develop my
property."

"Of which she no longer forms a part," Mr. Shovelin answered, with a
smile at me, which turned into pleasure my momentary pain at the other's
calm abandonment. "You will find me prompt and proud to claim her, as
soon as I am advised that this will is valid; and that I shall learn
to-morrow."

In spite of pride, or by its aid, my foolish eyes were full of tears,
and I gave him a look of gratitude which reminded him of my father, as
he said in so many words.

"Oh, I hope it is valid! How I hope it is!" I exclaimed, turning round
to the Major, who smiled rather grimly, and said he hoped so too.

"But surely," he continued, "as we are all here, we should not neglect
the opportunity of inspecting the other contents of this box. To me
it appears that we are bound to do so; that it is our plain duty to
ascertain--Why, there might even be a later will. Erema, my dear, you
must be most anxious to get to the bottom of it."

So I was, but desired even more that his curiosity should be foiled. "We
must leave that to Mr. Shovelin," I said.

"Then for the present we will seal it down again," the banker answered,
quietly; "we can see that there is no other will, and a later one would
scarcely be put under this. The other little packets, whatever they may
be, are objects of curiosity, perhaps, rather than of importance. They
will keep till we have more leisure."

"We have taken up a great deal of your time, Sir, I am sure," said the
Major, finding that he could take no more. "We ought to be, and we are,
most grateful."

"Well," the banker answered, as we began to move, "such things do not
happen every day. But there is no friend like an old friend, Erema, as I
mean to call you now. I was to have been your godfather; but I fear that
you never have been baptized."

"What!" cried the Major, staring at us both. "Is such a thing possible
in a Christian land? Oh, how I have neglected my duty to the Church!
Come back with me to Bruntsea, and my son shall do it. The church there
is under my orders, I should hope; and we will have a dinner party
afterward. What a horrible neglect of duty!"

"But how could I help it?" I exclaimed, with some terror at Major
Hockin's bristling hair. "I can not remember--I am sure I can not say.
It may have been done in France, or somewhere, if there was no time in
England. At any rate, my father is not to be blamed."

"Papistical baptism is worse than none," the Major said, impressively.
"Never mind, my dear, we will make that all right. You shall not be a
savage always. We will take the opportunity to change your name. Erema
is popish and outlandish; one scarcely knows how to pronounce it. You
shall have a good English Christian name--Jemima, Jane, or Sophy. Trust
me to know a good name. Trust me."

"Jemima!" I cried. "Oh, Mr. Shovelin, save me from ever being called
Jemima! Rather would I never be baptized at all."

"I am no judge of names," he answered, smiling, as he shook hands with
us; "but, unless I am a very bad judge of faces, you will be called just
what you please."

"And I please to be called what my father called me. It may be unlucky,
as a gentleman told me, who did not know how to pronounce it. However,
it will do very well for me. You wish to see me, then, to-morrow, Mr.
Shovelin?"

"If you please; but later in the day, when I am more at leisure. I do
not run away very early. Come at half past four to this door, and
knock. I hear every sound at this door in my room; and the place will be
growing quiet then."

He showed us out into a narrow alley through a heavy door sheathed with
iron, and soon we recovered the fair light of day, and the brawl and
roar of a London street.

"Now where shall we go?" the Major asked, as soon as he had found a cab
again; for he was very polite in that way. "You kept early hours with
your 'uncle Sam,' as you call Colonel Gundry, a slow-witted man, but
most amusing when he likes, as slow-witted men very often are. Now will
you come and dine with me? I can generally dine, as you, with virtuous
indignation, found out at Southampton. But we are better friends now,
Miss Heathen."

"Yes, I have more than I can ever thank you for," I answered, very
gravely, for I never could become jocose to order, and sadness still was
uppermost. "I will go where you like. I am quite at your orders, because
Betsy Bowen is busy now. She will not have done her work till six
o'clock."

"Well done!" he cried. "Bravo, Young America! Frankness is the finest of
all good manners. And what a lot of clumsy deception it saves! Then let
us go and dine. I will imitate your truthfulness. It was two words for
myself, and one for you. The air of London always makes me hungry after
too much country air. It is wrong altogether, but I can not help it. And
going along, I smell hungry smells coming out of deep holes with a
plate at the top. Hungry I mean to a man who has known what absolute
starvation is--when a man would thank God for a blue-bottle fly who had
taken his own nip any where. When I see the young fellows at the clubs
pick this, and poke that, and push away the other, may I be d----d--my
dear, I beg your pardon. Cabby, to the 'Grilled Bone and Scolloped
Cockle,' at the bottom of St. Ventricle Lane, you know."

This place seemed, from what the Major said, to have earned repute for
something special, something esteemed by the very clever people, and
only to be found in true virtue here. And he told me that luxury and
self-indulgence were the greatest sins of the present age, and how he
admired a man who came here to protest against Epicureans, by dining
(liquors not included) for the sum of three and sixpence.

All this, no doubt, was wise and right; but I could not attend to it
properly now, and he might take me where he would, and have all the
talking to himself, according to his practice. And I might not even have
been able to say what this temple of bones and cockles was like, except
for a little thing which happened there. The room, at the head of
a twisting staircase, was low and dark, and furnished almost like a
farmhouse kitchen. It had no carpet, nor even a mat, but a floor of
black timber, and a ceiling colored blue, with stars and comets, and a
full moon near the fire-place. On either side of the room stood narrow
tables endwise to the walls, inclosed with high-backed seats like
settles, forming thus a double set of little stalls or boxes, with
scarcely space enough between for waiters, more urgent than New York
firemen, to push their steaming and breathless way.

"Square or round, miss?" said one of them to me as soon as the Major had
set me on a bench, and before my mind had time to rally toward criticism
of the knives and forks, which deprecated any such ordeal; and he
cleverly whipped a stand for something dirty, over something still
dirtier, on the cloth.

"I don't understand what you mean," I replied to his highly zealous
aspect, while the Major sat smiling dryly at my ignorance, which vexed
me. "I have never received such a question before. Major Hockin, will
you kindly answer him?"

"Square," said the Major; "square for both." And the waiter, with a
glance of pity at me, hurried off to carry out his order.

"Erema, your mind is all up in the sky," my companion began to
remonstrate. "You ought to know better after all your travels."

"Then the sky should not fall and confuse me so," I said, pointing to
the Milky Way, not more than a yard above me; "but do tell me what he
meant, if you can. Is it about the formation of the soup?"

"Hush, my dear. Soup is high treason here until night, when they make it
of the leavings. His honest desire was to know whether you would have a
grilled bone of mutton, which is naturally round, you know, or of beef,
which, by the same law of nature, seems always to be square, you know."

"Oh, I see," I replied, with some confusion, not at his osteology, but
at the gaze of a pair of living and lively eyes fastened upon me. A
gentleman, waiting for his bill, had risen in the next low box, and
stood calmly (as if he had done all his duty to himself) gazing over the
wooden back at me, who thus sat facing him. And Major Hockin, following
my glance, stood up and turned round to see to it.

"What! Cousin Montague! Bless my heart, who could have dreamed of
lighting on you here? Come in, my dear follow; there is plenty of
room. Let me introduce you to my new ward, Miss Erema Castlewood. Miss
Castlewood, this is Sir Montague Hockin, the son of my lamented first
cousin Sir Rufus, of whom you have heard so much. Well, to be sure! I
have not seen you for an age. My dear fellow, now how are you?"

"Miss Castlewood, please not to move; I sit any where. Major, I am most
delighted to see you. Over and over again I have been at the point of
starting for Bruntsea Island--it is an island now, isn't it? My father
would never believe that it was till I proved it from the number of
rabbits that came up. However, not a desolate island now, if it contains
you and all your energies, and Miss Castlewood, as well as Mrs. Hockin."

"It is not an island, and it never shall be," the Major cried, knocking
a blue plate over, and spilling the salt inauspiciously. "It never
was an island, and it never shall be. My intention is to reclaim it
altogether. Oh, here come the squares. Well done! well done! I quite
forget the proper thing to have to drink. Are the cockles in the pan,
Mr. Waiter? Quite right, then; ten minutes is the proper time; but they
know that better than I do. I am very sorry, Montague, that you have
dined."

"Surely you would not call this a dinner; I take my true luncheon
afterward. But lately my appetite has been so bad that it must be fed up
at short intervals. You can understand that, perhaps, Miss Castlewood.
It makes the confectioners' fortunes, you know. The ladies once came
only twice to feed, but now they come three times, I am assured by a
young man who knows all about it. And cherry brandy is the mildest form
of tipple."

"Shocking scandal! abominable talk!" cried the Major, who took every
thing at its word. "I have heard all that sort of stuff ever since I was
as high as this table. Waiter, show me this gentleman's bill. Oh well,
oh well! you have not done so very badly. Two squares and a round, with
a jug of Steinberg, and a pint of British stout with your Stilton. If
this is your ante-lunch, what will you do when you come to your real
luncheon? But I must not talk now; you may have it as you please."

"The truth of it is, Miss Castlewood," said the young man, while I
looked with some curiosity at my frizzling bone, with the cover just
whisked off, and drops of its juice (like the rays of a lustre) shaking
with soft inner wealth--"the truth of it is just this, and no more:
we fix our minds and our thoughts, and all the rest of our higher
intelligence, a great deal too much upon our mere food."

"No doubt we do," I was obliged to answer. "It is very sad to think of,
as soon as one has dined. But does that reflection occur, as it should,
at the proper time to be useful--I mean when we are hungry?"

"I fear not; I fear that it is rather praeterite than practical."

"No big words now, my dear fellow," cried the Major. "You have had your
turn; let us have ours. But, Erema, you are eating nothing. Take a knife
and fork, Montague, and help her. The beauty of these things consists
entirely, absolutely, essentially, I may say, in their having the smoke
rushing out of them. A gush of steam like this should follow every turn
of the knife. But there! I am spoiling every bit by talking so."

"Is that any fault of mine?" asked Sir Montague, in a tone which made me
look at him. The voice was not harsh, nor rough, nor unpleasant, yet it
gave me the idea that it could be all three, and worse than all three,
upon occasion. So I looked at him, which I had refrained from doing, to
see whether his face confirmed that idea. To the best of my perception,
it did not. Sir Montague Hockin was rather good-looking, so far as
form and color go, having regular features, and clear blue eyes, very
beautiful teeth, and a golden beard. His appearance was grave, but
not morose, as if he were always examining things and people without
condemning them. It was evident that he expected to take the upper hand
in general, to play the first fiddle, to hold the top saw, to "be helped
to all the stuffing of the pumpkin," as dear Uncle Sam was fond of
saying. Of moderate stature, almost of middle age, and dressed nicely,
without any gewgaws, which look so common upon a gentleman's front, he
was likely to please more people than he displeased at first on-sight.

The Major was now in the flush of goodwill, having found his dinner
genial; and being a good man, he yielded to a little sympathetic anger
with those who had done less justice to themselves. And in this state
of mind he begged us to take note of one thing--that his ward should
be christened in Bruntsea Church, as sure as all the bells were his,
according to their inscriptions, no later than next Thursday week, that
being the day for a good sirloin; and if Sir Montague failed to come to
see how they could manage things under proper administration, he might
be sure of one thing, if no more--that Major Hockin would never speak to
him again.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A CHECK


So many things now began to open upon me, to do and to think of, that I
scarcely knew which to begin with. I used to be told how much wiser it
was not to interfere with any thing--to let by-gones be by-gones, and
consider my own self only. But this advice never came home to my case,
and it always seemed an unworthy thing even to be listening to it. And
now I saw reason to be glad for thanking people who advised me, and
letting them go on to advise themselves. For if I had listened to Major
Hockin, or even Uncle Sam for that part, where must I have been
now? Why, simply knowing no more than as a child I knew, and feeling
miserable about it. Whereas I had now at least something to go upon,
and enough for a long time to occupy my mind. The difficulty was to know
what to do first, and what to resolve to leave undone, or at least to
put off for the present. One of my special desires had been to discover
that man, that Mr. Goad, who had frightened me so about two years back,
and was said to be lost in the snow-drifts. But nobody like him had ever
been found, to the sorrow of the neighborhood; and Sylvester himself had
been disappointed, not even to know what to do with his clothes.

His card, however, before he went off, had been left to the care of
Uncle Sam for security of the 15,000 dollars; and on it was printed,
with a glazing and much flourish, "Vypan, Goad, and Terryer: Private
Inquiry Office, Little England Polygon, W.C." Uncle Sam, with a grunt
and a rise of his foot, had sent this low card flying to the fire, after
I had kissed him so for all his truth and loveliness; but I had caught
it and made him give it to me, as was only natural. And having this now,
I had been quite prepared to go and present it at its mean address, and
ask what they wanted me for in America, and what they would like to do
with me now, taking care to have either the Major close at hand, or else
a policeman well recommended.

But now I determined to wait a little while (if Betsy Bowen's opinion
should be at all the same as mine was), and to ask Mr. Shovelin what
he thought about it, before doing any thing that might arouse a set of
ideas quite opposite to mine, and so cause trouble afterward. And being
unable to think any better for the time than to wait and be talked to,
I got Major Hockin to take me back again to the right number in European
Square.

Here I found Mrs. Strouss (born Betsy Bowen) ready and eager to hear a
great deal more than I myself had heard that day. On the other hand, I
had many questions, arising from things said to me, to which I required
clear answers; and it never would do for her to suppose that because
she had known me come into this world, she must govern the whole of my
course therein. But it cost many words and a great deal of demeanor
to teach her that, good and faithful as she was, I could not be always
under her. Yet I promised to take her advice whenever it agreed with my
own opinions.

This pleased her, and she promised to offer it always, knowing how well
it would be received, and she told all her lodgers that they might ring
and ring, for she did not mean to answer any of their bells; but if they
wanted any thing, they must go and fetch it. Being Germans, who are the
most docile of men in England, whatever they may be at home, they made
no complaint, but retired to their pipes in a pleasant condition of
surprise at London habits.

Mrs. Strouss, being from her earliest years of a thrifty and reputable
turn of mind, had managed, in a large yet honest way, to put by many
things which must prove useful in the long-run, if kept long enough.
And I did hear--most careful as I am to pay no attention to petty
rumors--that the first thing that moved the heart of Herr Strouss, and
called forth his finest feelings, was a winding-up chair, which came out
to make legs, with a pocket for tobacco, and a flat place for a glass.

This was certainly a paltry thought; and to think of such low things
grieved me. And now, when I looked at Mr. Strouss himself, having heard
of none of these things yet, I felt that my nurse might not have done
her best, yet might have done worse, when she married him. For he seemed
to have taken a liking toward me, and an interest in my affairs, which
redounded to his credit, if he would not be too inquisitive. And now
I gladly allowed him to be present, and to rest in the chair which had
captivated him, although last night I could scarcely have borne to have
heard in his presence what I had to hear. To-night there was nothing
distressful to be said, compared, at least, with last night's tale;
whereas there were several questions to be put, in some of which (while
scouting altogether Uncle Sam's low estimate) two females might, with
advantage perhaps, obtain an opinion from the stronger sex.

And now, as soon as I had told my two friends as well as I could what
had happened at the bank (with which they were pleased, as I had been),
those questions arose, and were, I believe, chiefly to the following
purport--setting aside the main puzzle of all.

Why did my father say, on that dreadful morning, that if his father was
dead, he himself had killed or murdered him? Betsy believed, when she
came to think, that he had even used the worse word of these two.

How could the fatal shot have been discharged from his pistol--as
clearly it had been--a pistol, moreover, which, by his own account, as
Betsy now remembered, he had left in his quarters near Chichester?

What was that horrible disease which had carried off all my poor little
brothers and sisters, and frightened kind neighbors and servants away?
Betsy said it was called "Differeria," as differing so much from all
other complaints. I had never yet heard of this, but discovered, without
asking further than of Mr. Strouss, that she meant that urgent mandate
for a levy of small angels which is called on earth "diphtheria."

Who had directed those private inquirers, Vypan, Goad, and Terryer, to
send to the far West a member of their firm to get legal proof of my
dear father's death, and to bring me back, if possible? The present
Lord Castlewood never would have done so, according to what Mr. Shovelin
said; it was far more likely that (but for weak health) he would have
come forth himself to seek me, upon any probable tidings. At once a
religious and chivalrous man, he would never employ mean agency. And
while thinking of that, another thought occurred--What had induced that
low man Goad to give Uncle Sam a date wrong altogether for the crime
which began all our misery? He had put it at ten, now twelve, years
back, and dated it in November, whereas it had happened in September
month, six years and two months before the date he gave. This question
was out of all answer to me, and also to Mrs. Strouss herself; but Herr
Strouss, being of a legal turn, believed that the law was to blame
for it. He thought that proceedings might be bound to begin, under the
Extradition Act, within ten years of the date of the crime; or there
might be some other stipulation compelling Mr. Goad to add one to all
his falsehoods; and not knowing any thing about it, both of us thought
it very likely.

Again, what could have been that last pledge which passed between my
father and mother, when they said "good-by" to one another, and perhaps
knew that it was forever, so far as this bodily world is concerned? Was
it any thing about a poor little sleeping and whimpering creature like
myself, who could not yet make any difference to any living being except
the mother? Or was it concerning far more important things, justice,
clear honor, good-will, and duty, such as in the crush of time come
upward with high natures? And if so, was it not a promise from my
mother, knowing every thing, to say nothing, even at the quivering
moment of lying beneath the point of death?

This was a new idea for Betsy, who had concluded from the very first
that the pledge must be on my father's part--to wit, that he had vowed
not to surrender, or hurt himself in any way, for the sake of his dear
wife. And to my suggestion she could only say that she never had seen
it in that light; but the landings were so narrow and the walls so soft
that, with all her duty staring in her face, neither she, nor the best
servant ever in an apron, could be held responsible to repeat their very
words. And her husband said that this was good--very good--so good as
ever could be; and what was to show now from the mouth of any one, after
fifteen, sixteen, eighteen, the years?

After this I had no other word to say, being still too young to
contradict people duly married and of one accord. No other word, I mean,
upon that point; though still I had to ask, upon matters more immediate,
what was the next thing for me, perhaps, to do. And first of all it was
settled among us that for me to present myself at the head-quarters of
Vypau, Goad, and Terryer would be a very clumsy and stupid proceeding,
and perhaps even dangerous. Of course they would not reveal to me the
author of those kind inquiries about myself, which perhaps had cost the
firm a very valuable life, the life of Mr. Goad himself. And while I
should learn less than nothing from them, they would most easily extract
from me, or at any rate find out afterward, where I was living, and
what I was doing, and how I could most quietly be met and baffled, and
perhaps even made away with, so as to save all further trouble.

Neither was that the only point upon which I resolved to do nothing.
Herr Strouss was a very simple-minded man, yet full of true sagacity,
and he warmly advised, in his very worst English, that none but my few
trusty friends should be told of my visit to this country.

"Why for make to know your enemies?" he asked, with one finger on his
forehead, which was his mode of indicating caution. "Enemies find out
vere soon, too soon, soon enough. Begin to plot--no, no, young lady
begin first. Vilhelmina, your man say the right. Is it good, or is it
bad?"

It appeared to us both to be good, so far as might be judged for the
present; and therefore I made up my mind to abstain from calling even on
my father's agent, unless Mr. Shovelin should think it needful. In that
and other matters I would act by his advice; and so with better spirits
than I long had owned, at finding so much kindness, and with good hopes
of the morrow, I went to the snug little bedroom which my good nurse had
provided.

Alas! What was my little grief on the morrow, compared to the deep and
abiding loss of many by a good man's death? When I went to the door at
which I had been told to knock, it was long before I got an answer. And
even when somebody came at last, so far from being my guardian, it was
only a poor old clerk, who said, "Hush, miss!" and then prayed that the
will of the Lord might be done. "Couldn't you see the half-shutters
up?" he continued, rather roughly. "'Tis a bad job for many a poor man
to-day. And it seems no more than yesterday I was carrying him about!"

"Do you mean Mr. Shovelin?" I asked. "Is he poorly? Has any thing
happened? I can wait, or come again."

"The Lord has taken him to the mansions of the just, from his private
address at Sydenham Hill. A burning and a shining light! May we like
him be found watching in that day, with our lamps trimmed and our loins
girded!"

For the moment I was too surprised to speak, and the kind old man led me
into the passage, seeing how pale and faint I was. He belonged, like
his master, and a great part of their business, to a simple religious
persuasion, or faith, which now is very seldom heard of.

"It was just in this way," he said, as soon as tears had enabled me to
speak--for even at the first sight I had felt affection toward my new
guardian. "Our master is a very punctual man, for five-and-thirty years
never late--never late once till this morning. Excuse me, miss, I ought
to be ashamed. The Lord knoweth what is best for us. Well, you threw him
out a good bit yesterday, and there was other troubles. And he had to
work late last night, I hear; for through his work he would go, be it
anyhow--diligent in business, husbanding the time--and when he came down
to breakfast this morning, he prayed with his household as usual, but
they noticed his voice rather weak and queer; and the mistress looked
at him when he got up from his knees; but he drank his cup of tea and
he ate his bit of toast, which was all he ever took for breakfast. But
presently when his cob came up to the door--for he always rode in to
business, miss, no matter what the weather was--he went to kiss his wife
and his daughters all round, according to their ages; and he got through
them all, when away he fell down, with the riding-whip in one hand, and
expired on a piece of Indian matting."

"How terrible!" I exclaimed, with a sob. And the poor old man, in spite
of all his piety, was sobbing.

"No, miss; not a bit of terror about it, to a man prepared as he was.
He had had some warning just a year ago; and the doctors all told him he
must leave off work. He could no more do without his proper work than he
could without air or victuals. What this old established concern will
do without him, our Divine Master only knows. And a pinch coming on in
Threadneedle Street, I hear--but I scarcely know what I am saying, miss;
I was thinking of the camel and the needle."

"I will not repeat what you have not meant to tell," I answered, seeing
his confusion, and the clumsy turn he had made of it. "Only tell me what
dear Mr. Shovelin died of."

"Heart-disease, miss. You might know in a moment. Nothing kills like
that. His poor father died of it, thirty years agone. And the better
people are, the more they get it."



CHAPTER XXIX

AT THE PUMP


This blow was so sharp and heavy that I lost for the moment all power to
go on. The sense of ill fortune fell upon me, as it falls upon stronger
people, when a sudden gleam of hope, breaking through long troubles,
mysteriously fades away.

Even the pleasure of indulging in the gloom of evil luck was a thing
to be ashamed of now, when I thought of that good man's family thus,
without a moment's warning, robbed of love and hope and happiness. But
Mrs. Strouss, who often brooded on predestination, imbittered all my
thoughts by saying, or rather conveying without words, that my poor
fathers taint of some Divine ill-will had re-appeared, and even killed
his banker.

Betsy held most Low-Church views, by nature being a Dissenter. She
called herself a Baptist, and in some strange way had stopped me thus
from ever having been baptized. I do not understand these things, and
the battles fought about them; but knowing that my father was a member
of the English Church, I resolved to be the same, and told Betsy that
she ought not to set up against her master's doctrine. Then she herself
became ashamed of trying to convert me, not only because of my ignorance
(which made argument like shooting into the sea), but chiefly because
she could mention no one of title with such theology.

This settled the question at once; and remembering (to my shame) what
opinions I had held even of Suan Isco, while being in the very same
predicament myself, reflecting also what Uncle Sam and Firm would have
thought of me, had they known it, I anticipated the Major and his dinner
party by going to a quiet ancient clergyman, who examined me, and being
satisfied with little, took me to an old City church of deep and damp
retirement. And here, with a great din of traffic outside, and a mildewy
depth of repose within, I was presented by certain sponsors (the clerk
and his wife and his wife's sister), and heard good words, and hope to
keep the impression, both outward and inward, gently made upon me.

I need not say that I kept, and now received with authority, my old
name; though the clerk prefixed an aspirate to it, and indulged in two
syllables only. But the ancient parson knew its meaning, and looked at
me with curiosity; yet, being a gentleman of the old school, put never a
question about it.

Now this being done, and full tidings thereof sent off to Mrs. Hockin,
to save trouble to the butcher, or other disappointment, I scarcely knew
how to be moving next, though move I must before very long. For it cost
me a great deal of money to stay in European Square like this, albeit
Herr Strouss was of all men the most generous, by his own avowal, and
his wife (by the same test) noble-hearted among women. Yet each of them
spoke of the other's pecuniary views in such a desponding tone (when the
other was out of the way), and so lamented to have any thing at all
to say about cash--by compulsion of the other--also both, when met
together, were so large and reckless, and not to be insulted by a
thought of payment, that it came to pass that my money did nothing but
run away between them.

This was not their fault at all, but all my own, for being unable to
keep my secret about the great nugget. The Major had told me not to
speak of this, according to wise experience; and I had not the smallest
intention of doing an atom of mischief in that way; but somehow or other
it came out one night when I was being pitied for my desolation. And all
the charges against me began to be doubled from that moment.

If this had been all, I should not have cared so much, being quite
content that my money should go as fast as it came in to me. But there
was another thing here which cost me as much as my board and lodgings
and all the rest of my expenses. And that was the iron pump in European
Square. For this pump stood in the very centre of a huddled district
of famine, filth, and fever. When once I had seen from the leads of
our house the quag of reeking life around, the stubs and snags of
chimney-pots, the gashes among them entitled streets, and the broken
blains called houses, I was quite ashamed of paying any thing to become
a Christian.

Betsy, who stood by me, said that it was better than it used to be,
and that all these people lived in comfort of their own ideas, fiercely
resented all interference, and were good to one another in their own
rough way. It was more than three years since there had been a single
murder among them, and even then the man who was killed confessed that
he deserved it. She told me, also, that in some mining district of
Wales, well known to her, things were a great deal worse than here,
although the people were not half so poor. And finally, looking at a
ruby ring which I had begged her to wear always, for the sake of her
truth to me, she begged me to be wiser than to fret about things that I
could not change. "All these people, whose hovels I saw, had the means
of grace before them, and if they would not stretch forth their hands,
it was only because they were vessels of wrath. Her pity was rather
for our poor black brethren who had never enjoyed no opportunities, and
therefore must be castaways."

Being a stranger, and so young, and accustomed to receive my doctrine
(since first I went to America), I dropped all intention of attempting
any good in places where I might be murdered. But I could not help
looking at the pump which was in front, and the poor things who came
there for water, and, most of all, the children. With these it was
almost the joy of the day, and perhaps the only joy, to come into this
little open space and stand, and put their backs up stiffly, and stare
about, ready for some good luck to turn up--such as a horse to hold, or
a man coming out of the docks with a half-penny to spare--and then,
in failure of such golden hope, to dash about, in and out, after one
another, splashing, and kicking over their own cans, kettles, jars, or
buckets, and stretching their dirty little naked legs, and showing very
often fine white chests, and bright teeth wet with laughter. And then,
when this chivy was done, and their quick little hearts beat aloud with
glory, it was pretty to see them all rally round the pump, as crafty
as their betters, and watching with sly humor each other's readiness to
begin again.

Then suddenly a sense of neglected duty would seize some little body
with a hand to its side, nine times out of ten a girl, whose mother,
perhaps, lay sick at home, and a stern idea of responsibility began
to make the buckets clank. Then might you see, if you cared to do so,
orderly management have its turn--a demand for pins and a tucking up
of skirts (which scarcely seemed worthy of the great young fuss), large
children scolding little ones not a bit more muddy than themselves, the
while the very least child of all, too young as yet for chivying, and
only come for company, would smooth her comparatively clean frock down,
and look up at her sisters with condemnatory eyes.

Trivial as they were, these things amused me much, and made a little
checker of reflected light upon the cloud of selfish gloom, especially
when the real work began, and the children, vying with one another,
set to at the iron handle. This was too large for their little hands to
grasp, and by means of some grievance inside, or perhaps through a cruel
trick of the plumber, up went the long handle every time small fingers
were too confiding, and there it stood up like the tail of a rampant
cow, or a branch inaccessible, until an old shawl or the cord of a
peg-top could be cast up on high to reduce it. But some engineering boy,
"highly gifted," like Uncle Sam's self, "with machinery," had discovered
an ingenious cure for this. With the help of the girls he used to fasten
a fat little thing, about twelve months old, in the bend at the middle
of the handle, and there (like a ham on the steelyard) hung this baby
and enjoyed seesaw, and laughed at its own utility.

I never saw this, and the splashing and dribbling and play and bright
revelry of water, without forgetting all sad counsel and discretion,
and rushing out as if the dingy pump were my own delicious Blue River.
People used to look at me from the windows with pity and astonishment,
supposing me to be crazed or frantic, especially the Germans. For to run
out like this, without a pocket full of money, would have been insanity;
and to run out with it, to their minds, was even clearer proof of that
condition. For the money went as quickly as the water of the pump; on
this side and on that it flew, each child in succession making deeper
drain upon it, in virtue of still deeper woes. They were dreadful little
story-tellers, I am very much afraid; and the long faces pulled, as
soon as I came out, in contrast with all the recent glee and frolic,
suggested to even the youngest charity suspicions of some inconsistency.
However, they were so ingenious and clever that they worked my pockets
like the pump itself, only with this unhappy difference, that the former
had no inexhaustible spring of silver, or even of copper.

And thus, by a reason (as cogent as any of more exalted nature), was
I driven back to my head-quarters, there to abide till a fresh supply
should come. For Uncle Sam, generous and noble as he was, did not mean
to let me melt all away at once my share of the great Blue River nugget,
any more than to make ducks and drakes of his own. Indeed, that rock of
gold was still untouched, and healthily reposing in a banker's cellar
in the good town of Sacramento. People were allowed to go in and see
it upon payment of a dollar, and they came out so thirsty from feasting
upon it that a bar was set up, and a pile of money made--all the
gentlemen, and ladies even worse than they, taking a reckless turn about
small money after seeing that. But dear Uncle Sam refused every cent of
the profit of all this excitable work. It was wholly against his wish
that any thing so artificial should be done at all, and his sense of
religion condemned it. He said, in his very first letter to me, that
even a heathen must acknowledge this champion nugget as the grandest
work of the Lord yet discovered in America--a country more full of all
works of the Lord than the rest of the world put together. And to keep
it in a cellar, without any air or sun, grated harshly upon his ideas of
right.

However, he did not expect every body to think exactly as he did, and
if they could turn a few dollars upon it, they were welcome, as having
large families. And the balance might go to his credit against the
interest on any cash advanced to him. Not that he meant to be very fast
with this, never having run into debt in all his life.

This, put shortly, was the reason why I could not run to the pump any
longer. I had come into England with money enough to last me (according
to the Sawyer's calculations) for a year and a half of every needful
work; whereas, in less than half that time, I was arriving at my last
penny. This reminded me of my dear father, who was nearly always in
trouble about money (although so strictly upright); and at first I was
proud to be like him about this, till I came to find the disadvantages.

It must not even for a moment be imagined that this made any difference
in the behavior of any one toward me. Mrs. Strouss, Herr Strouss, the
lady on the stairs, and a very clever woman who had got no rooms, but
was kindly accommodated every where, as well as the baron on the first
floor front, and the gentleman from a hotel at Hanover, who looked
out the other way, and even the children at the pump--not one made any
difference toward me (as an enemy might, perhaps, suppose) because my
last half crown was gone. It was admitted upon every side that I ought
to be forgiven for my random cast of money, because I knew no better,
and was sure to have more in a very little time. And the children of
the pump came to see me go away, through streets of a mile and a half, I
should think; and they carried my things, looking after one another, so
that none could run away. And being forbidden at the platform gate, for
want of respectability, they set up a cheer, and I waved my hat, and
promised, amidst great applause, to come back with it full of sixpences.



CHAPTER XXX

COCKS AND COXCOMBS


Major Hockin brought the only fly as yet to be found in Bruntsea, to
meet me at Newport, where the railway ended at present, for want of
further encouragement.

"Very soon you go," he cried out to the bulkheads, or buffers, or
whatever are the things that close the career of a land-engine.
"Station-master, you are very wise in putting in your very best cabbage
plants there. You understand your own company. Well done! If I were to
offer you a shilling apiece for those young early Yorks, what would you
say, now?"

"Weel, a think I should say nah, Sir," the Scotch station-master made
answer, with a grin, while he pulled off his cap of office and put on a
dissolute Glengary. "They are a veery fine young kail, that always pays
for planting."

"The villain!" said the Major, as I jumped into the fly. "However, I
suppose he does quite right. Set a thief to watch a thief. The company
are big rogues, and he tries to be a bigger. We shall cut through his
garden in about three months, just when his cabbages are getting firm,
and their value will exceed that of pine-apples. The surveyor will
come down and certify, and the 'damage to crops' will be at least five
pounds, when they have no right to sow even mustard and cress, and a
saucepan would hold all the victuals on the land."

From this I perceived that my host was as full of his speculative
schemes as ever; and soon he made the driver of the one-horse fly turn
aside from the unfenced road and take the turf. "Coachman," he cried,
"just drive along the railway; you won't have the chance much longer."

There was no sod turned yet and no rod set up; but the driver seemed to
know what was meant, and took us over the springy turf where once had
run the river. And the salt breath of the sea came over the pebble
ridge, full of appetite and briskness, after so much London.

"It is one of the saddest things I ever heard of," Major Hockin began
to say to me. "Poor Shovelin! poor Shovelin! A man of large capital--the
very thing we want. It might have been the making of this place. I have
very little doubt that I must have brought him to see our great natural
advantages--the beauty of the situation, the salubrity of the air, the
absence of all clay, or marsh, or noxious deposit, the bright crisp
turf, and the noble underlay of chalk, which (if you perceive my
meaning) can not retain any damp, but transmits it into sweet natural
wells. Why, driver, where the devil are you driving us?"

"No fear, your honor. I know every trick of it. It won't come over
the wheels, I do believe, and it does all the good in the world to his
sand-cracks. Whoa-ho, my boy, then! And the young lady's feet might
go up upon the cushion, if her boots is thin, Sir; and Mr. Rasper will
excuse of it."

"What the"--something hot--"do you mean, Sir?" the Major roared over
the water, which seemed to be deepening as we went on. "Pull out this
instant; pull out, I tell you, or you shall have three months' hard
labor. May I be d----d now--my dear, I beg your pardon for speaking with
such sincerity--I simply mean, may I go straightway to the devil, if I
don't put this fellow on the tread-mill. Oh, you can pull out now, then,
can you?"

"If your honor pleases, I never did pull in," the poor driver answered,
being frightened at the excitement of the lord of the manor. "My orders
was, miss, to drive along the line coming on now just to Bruntsea, and
keep in the middle of that same I did, and this here little wet is a
haxident--a haxident of the full moon, I do assure you, and the wind
coming over the sea, as you might say. These pebbles is too round, miss,
to stick to one another; you couldn't expect it of them; and sometimes
the water here and there comes a-leaking like through the bottom. I have
seed it so, ever since I can remember."

"I don't believe a word of it," the Major said, as we waited a little
for the vehicle to drain, and I made a nosegay of the bright sea
flowers. "Tell me no lies, Sir; you belong to the West Bruntseyans, and
you have driven us into a vile bog to scare me. They have bribed you.
I see the whole of it. Tell me the truth, and you shall have five
shillings."

The driver looked over the marshes as if he had never received such
an offer before. Five shillings for a falsehood would have seemed the
proper thing, and have called for a balance of considerations, and made
a demand upon his energies. But to earn five shillings by the truth had
never fallen to his luck before; and he turned to me, because I smiled,
and he said, "Will you taste the water, miss?"

"Bless me!" cried the Major, "now I never thought of that. Common people
have such ways about things they are used to! I might have stood
here for a month, and never have thought of that way to settle it.
Ridiculously simple. Give me a taste, Erema. Ah, that is the real beauty
of our coast, my dear! The strongest proportion of the saline element--I
should know the taste of it any where. No sea-weed, no fishy particles,
no sludge, no beards of oysters. The pure, uncontaminated, perfect
brine, that sets every male and female on his legs, varicose,
orthopedic--I forget their scientifics, but I know the smack of it."

"Certainly," I said, "it is beautifully salt. It will give you an
appetite for dinner, Major Hockin. I could drink a pint of it, after all
that smoke. But don't you think it is a serious thing for the sea itself
to come pouring through the bottom of this pebble bank in this way?"

"Not at all. No, I rather like it. It opens up many strictly practical
ideas. It adds very much to the value of the land. For instance, a
'salt-lick,' as your sweet Yankees call it--and set up an infirmary for
foot and mouth disease. And better still, the baths, the baths, my dear.
No expense for piping, or pumping, or any thing. Only place your marble
at the proper level, and twice a day you have the grand salubrious
sparkling influx of ocean's self, self-filtered, and by its own
operation permeated with a fine siliceous element. What foreign mud
could compete with such a bath?"

"But supposing there should come too much of it," I said, "and wash both
the baths and the bathers away?"

"Such an idea is ridiculous. It can be adjusted to a nicety. I am very
glad I happened to observe this thing, this--this noble phenomenon.
I shall speak to Montague about it at once, before I am half an hour
older. My dear, you have made a conquest; I quite forgot to tell you;
but never mind that for the present. Driver, here is half a crown for
you. Your master will put down the fly to my account. He owes me a
heriot. I shall claim his best beast, the moment he gets one without a
broken wind."

As the Major spoke, he got out at his own door with all his wonted
alacrity; but instead of offering me his hand, as he always had done
in London, he skipped up his nine steps, on purpose (as I saw) that
somebody else might come down for me. And this was Sir Montague Hockin,
as I feared was only too likely from what had been said. If I had even
suspected that this gentleman was at Bruntlands, I would have done my
utmost to stay where I was, in spite of all absence of money. Betsy
would gladly have allowed me to remain, without paying even a farthing,
until it should become convenient. Pride had forbidden me to speak of
this; but I would have got over that pride much rather than meet this
Sir Montague Hockin thus. Some instinct told me to avoid him altogether;
and having so little now of any other guidance, I attached, perhaps,
foolish importance to that.

However, it was not the part of a lady to be rude to any one through
instinct; and I knew already that in England young women are not quite
such masters of their own behavior as in the far West they are allowed
to be. And so I did my best that, even in my eyes, he should not see
how vexed I was at meeting him. And soon it appeared that this behavior,
however painful to me, was no less wise than good, because both with my
host and hostess this new visitor was already at the summit of all good
graces. He had conquered the Major by admiration of all his schemes
and upshots, and even offering glimmers of the needful money in the
distance; and Mrs. Hockin lay quite at his feet ever since he had
opened a hamper and produced a pair of frizzled fowls, creatures of
an extraordinary aspect, toothed all over like a dandelion plant, with
every feather sticking inside out. When I saw them, I tried for my life
not to laugh, and biting my lips very hard, quite succeeded, until the
cock opened up a pair of sleepy eyes, covered with comb and very sad
inversions, and glancing with complacency at his wife (who stood beneath
him, even more turned inside out), capered with his twiggy legs, and
gave a long, sad crow. Mrs. Hockin looked at him with intense delight.

"Erema, is it possible that you laugh? I thought that you never laughed,
Erema. At any rate, if you ever do indulge, you might choose a
fitter opportunity, I think. You have spoiled his demonstration
altogether--see, he does not understand such unkindness--and it is the
very first he has uttered since he came. Oh, poor Fluffsky!"

"I am very, very sorry. But how was I to help it? I would not, on any
account, have stopped him if I had known he was so sensitive. Fluffsky,
do please to begin again."

"These beggars are nothing at all, I can assure you," said Sir Montague,
coming to my aid, when Fluffsky spurned all our prayers for one more
crow. "Mrs. Hockin, if you really would like to have a fowl that even
Lady Clara Crowcombe has not got, you shall have it in a week, or a
fortnight, or, at any rate, a month, if I can manage it. They are not
to be had except through certain channels, and the fellows who write the
poultry books have never even heard of them."

"Oh, how delighted I shall be! Lady Clara despises all her neighbors so.
But do they lay eggs? Half the use of keeping poultry, when you never
kill them, is to get an egg for breakfast; and Major Hockin looks round
and says, 'Now is this our own?' and I can not say that it is; and I am
vexed with the books, and he begins to laugh at me. People said it was
for want of chalk, but they walk upon nothing but chalk, as you can
see."

"And their food, Mrs. Hockin. They are walking upon that. Starve
them for a week, and forty eggs at least will reward you for stern
discipline."

But all this little talk I only tell to show how good and soft Mrs.
Hockin was; and her husband, in spite of all his self-opinion, and
resolute talk about money and manorial dues, in his way, perhaps, was
even less to be trusted to get his cash out of any poor and honest man.

On the very day after my return from London I received a letter from
"Colonel Gundry" (as we always called the Sawyer now, through his
kinship to the Major), and, as it can not easily be put into less
compass, I may as well give his very words:


"DEAR MISS REMA,--Your last favor to hand, with thanks. Every thing is
going on all right with us. The mill is built up, and goes better than
ever; more orders on hand than we can get through. We have not cracked
the big nugget yet. Expect the government to take him at a trifle below
value, for Washington Museum. Must have your consent; but, for my part,
would rather let him go there than break him. Am ready to lose a few
dollars upon him, particularly as he might crack up all quartzy in the
middle. They offer to take him by weight at three dollars and a half per
pound below standard. Please say if agreeable.

"I fear, my dear, that there are bad times coming for all of us here
in this part. Not about money, but a long sight worse; bad will, and
contention, and rebellion, perhaps. What we hear concerning it is not
much here; but even here thoughts are very much divided. Ephraim takes
a different view from mine; which is not a right thing for a grandson
to do; and neighbor Sylvester goes with him. The Lord send agreement and
concord among us; but, if He doeth so, He must change his mind first,
for every man is borrowing his neighbor's gun.

"If there is any thing that you can do to turn Ephraim back to his duty,
my dear, I am sure that, for love of us, you will do it. If Firm was
to run away from me now, and go fighting on behalf of slavery, I never
should care more for naught upon this side of Jordan; and the new mill
might go to Jericho; though it does look uncommon handsome now, I can
assure you, and tears through its work like a tiger.

"Noting symptoms in your last of the price of things in England, and
having carried over some to your account, inclosed please to find a bill
for five hundred dollars, though not likely to be wanted yet. Save a
care of your money, my dear; but pay your way handsome, as a Castlewood
should do. Jowler goes his rounds twice a day looking for you; and
somebody else never hangs his hat up without casting one eye at the
corner you know. Sylvester's girl was over here last week, dashing about
as usual. If Firm goes South, he may have her, for aught I care, and
never see saw-mill again. But I hope that the Lord will spare my old
days such disgrace and tribulation.

"About you know what, my dear, be not overanxious. I have been young,
and now am old, as the holy Psalmist says; and the more I see of the
ways of men, the less I verily think of them. Their good esteem, their
cap in hand, their fair fame, as they call it, goes by accident, and
fortune, the whim of the moment, and the way the clever ones have of
tickling them. A great man laughs at the flimsy of it, and a good one
goes to his conscience. Your father saw these things at their value.
I have often grieved that you can not see them so; but perhaps I have
liked you none the worse, my dear.

"Don't forget about going South. A word from you may stop him. It is
almost the only hope I have, and even that may be too late. Suan Isco
and Martin send messages. The flowers are on your father's grave. I have
got a large order for pine cradles in great haste, but have time to be,

"Truly yours,

"SAMPSON GUNDRY."


That letter, while it relieved me in one way, from the want of money,
cost me more than ten times five hundred dollars' worth of anxiety. The
Sawyer had written to me twice ere this--kind, simple letters, but of
no importance, except for their goodness and affection. But now it was
clear that when he wrote this letter he must have been sadly put out and
upset. His advice to me was beyond all value; but he seemed to have kept
none at home for himself. He was carried quite out of his large, staid
ways when he wrote those bitter words about poor Firm--the very apple of
his eye, as the holy Psalmist says. And, knowing the obstinacy of them
both, I dreaded clash between them.



CHAPTER XXXI

ADRIFT


Having got money enough to last long with one brought up to simplicity,
and resolved to have nothing to do for a while with charity or furnished
lodgings (what though kept by one's own nurse), I cast about now for
good reason to be off from all the busy works at Bruntsea. So soon after
such a tremendous blow, it was impossible for me to push my own little
troubles and concerns upon good Mr. Shovelin's family, much as I longed
to know what was to become of my father's will, if any thing. But my
desire to be doing something, or, at least, to get away for a time
from Bruntsea, was largely increased by Sir Montague Hockin's strange
behavior toward me.

That young man, if still he could be called young--which, at my age,
scarcely seemed to be his right, for he must have been ten years older
than poor Firm--began more and more every day to come after me, just
when I wanted to be quite alone. There was nothing more soothing to my
thoughts and mind (the latter getting quiet from the former, I suppose)
than for the whole of me to rest a while in such a little scollop of
the shingle as a new-moon tide, in little crescents, leaves just below
high-water mark. And now it was new-moon tide again, a fortnight after
the flooding of our fly by the activity of the full moon; and, feeling
how I longed to understand these things--which seem to be denied to all
who are of the same sex as the moon herself--I sat in a very nice nick,
where no wind could make me look worse than nature willed. But of my own
looks I never did think twice, unless there was any one to speak of such
a subject.

Here I was sitting in the afternoon of a gentle July day, wondering by
what energy of nature all these countless pebbles were produced, and not
even a couple to be found among them fit to lie side by side and purely
tally with each other. Right and left, for miles and miles, millions
multiplied into millions; yet I might hold any one in my palm and be
sure that it never had been there before. And of the quiet wavelets
even, taking their own time and manner, in default of will of wind,
all to come and call attention to their doom by arching over, and
endeavoring to make froth, were any two in sound and size, much more
in shape and shade, alike? Every one had its own little business, of
floating pop-weed or foam bubbles or of blistered light, to do; and
every one, having done it, died and subsided into its successor.

"A trifle sentimental, are we?" cried a lively voice behind me, and
the waves of my soft reflections fell, and instead of them stood Sir
Montague Hockin, with a hideous parasol.

I never received him with worse grace, often as I had repulsed him; but
he was one of those people who think that women are all whims and ways.

"I grieve to intrude upon large ideas," he said, as I rose and looked at
him, "but I act under positive orders now. A lady knows what is best
for a lady. Mrs. Hockin has been looking from the window, and she thinks
that you ought not to be sitting in the sun like this. There has been
a case of sun-stroke at Southbourne--a young lady meditating under the
cliff--and she begs you to accept this palm leaf."

I thought of the many miles I had wandered under the fierce Californian
sun; but I would not speak to him of that. "Thank you," I said; "it was
very kind of her to think of it, and of you to do it. But will it be
safe for you to go back without it?"

"Oh, why should I do so?" he answered, with a tone of mock pathos which
provoked me always, though I never could believe it to be meant in
ridicule of me, for that would have been too low a thing; and, besides,
I never spoke so. "Could you bear to see me slain by the shafts of the
sun? Miss Castlewood, this parasol is amply large for both of us."

I would not answer him in his own vein, because I never liked his vein
at all; though I was not so entirely possessed as to want every body to
be like myself.

"Thank you; I mean to stay here," I said; "you may either leave the
parasol or take it, whichever will be less troublesome. At any rate, I
shall not use it."

A gentleman, according to my ideas, would have bowed and gone upon his
way; but Sir Montague Hockin would have no rebuff. He seemed to look
upon me as a child, such as average English girls, fresh from little
schools, would be. Nothing more annoyed me, after all my thoughts and
dream of some power in myself, than this.

"Perhaps I might tell you a thing or two," he said, while I kept gazing
at some fishing-boats, and sat down again, as a sign for him to go--"a
little thing or two of which you have no idea, even in your most lonely
musings, which might have a very deep interest for you. Do you think
that I came to this hole to see the sea? Or that fussy old muff of a
Major's doings?"

"Perhaps you would like me to tell him your opinion of his intellect and
great plans," I answered. "And after all his kindness to you!"

"You never will do that," he said; "because you are a lady, and will not
repeat what is said in confidence. I could help you materially in your
great object, if you would only make a friend of me."

"And what would your own object be? The pure anxiety to do right?"

"Partly, and I might say mainly, that; also an ambition for your good
opinion, which seems so inaccessible. But you will think me selfish if I
even hint at any condition of any kind. Every body I have ever met with
likes me, except Miss Castlewood."

As he spoke he glanced down his fine amber-colored beard, shining in the
sun, and even in the sun showing no gray hair (for a reason which Mrs.
Hockin told me afterward), and he seemed to think it hard that a man
with such a beard should be valued lightly.

"I do not see why we should talk," I said, "about either likes or
dislikes. Only, if you have any thing to tell, I shall be very much
obliged to you."

This gentleman looked at me in a way which I have often observed in
England. A general idea there prevails that the free and enlightened
natives of the West are in front of those here in intelligence, and
to some extent, therefore, in dishonesty. But there must be many cases
where the two are not the same.

"No," I replied, while he was looking at his buttons, which had every
British animal upon them; "I mean nothing more than the simple thing
I say. If you ought to tell me any thing, tell it. I am accustomed to
straightforward people. But they disappoint one by their never knowing
any thing."

"But I know something," he answered, with a nod of grave, mysterious
import; "and perhaps I will tell you some day, when admitted, if ever I
have such an honor, to some little degree of friendship."

"Oh, please not to think of yourself," I exclaimed, in a manner which
must have amused him. "In such a case, the last thing that you should do
is that. Think only of what is right and honorable, and your duty toward
a lady. Also your duty to the laws of your country. I am not at all sure
that you ought not to be arrested. But perhaps it is nothing at all,
after all; only something invented to provoke me."

"In that case, I can only drop the subject," he answered, with that
stern gleam of the eyes which I had observed before, and detested. "I
was also to tell you that we dine to-day an hour before the usual time,
that my cousin may go out in the boat for whiting. The sea will be as
smooth as glass. Perhaps you will come with us."

With these words, he lifted his hat and went off, leaving me in a most
uncomfortable state, as he must have known if he had even tried to
think. For I could not get the smallest idea what he meant; and, much as
I tried to believe that he must be only pretending, for reasons of his
own, to have something important to tell me, scarcely was it possible to
be contented so. A thousand absurd imaginations began to torment me as
to what he meant. He lived in London so much, for instance, that he had
much quicker chance of knowing whatever there was to know; again, he was
a man of the world, full of short, sharp sagacity, and able to penetrate
what I could not; then, again, he kept a large account with Shovelin,
Wayte, and Shovelin, as Major Hockin chanced to say; and I knew not that
a banker's reserve is much deeper than his deposit; moreover--which, to
my mind, was almost stronger proof than any thing--Sir Montague Hockin
was of smuggling pedigree, and likely to be skillful in illicit runs of
knowledge.

However, in spite of all this uneasiness, not another word would I say
to him about it, waiting rather for him to begin again upon it. But,
though I waited and waited, as, perhaps, with any other person I
scarcely could have done, he would not condescend to give me even
another look about it.

Disliking that gentleman more and more for his supercilious conduct and
certainty of subduing me, I naturally turned again to my good host and
hostess. But here there was very little help or support to be obtained
at present. Major Hockin was laying the foundations of "The Bruntsea
Assembly-Rooms, Literary Institute, Mutual Improvement Association,
Lyceum, and Baths, from sixpence upward;" while Mrs. Hockin had a hatch
of "White Sultans," or, rather, a prolonged sitting of eggs, fondly
hoped to hatch at last, from having cost so much, like a chicken-hearted
Conference. Much as I sorrowed at her disappointment--for the sitting
cost twelve guineas--I could not feel quite guiltless of a petty and
ignoble smile, when, after hoping against hope, upon the thirtieth day
she placed her beautifully sound eggs in a large bowl of warm water, in
which they floated as calmly as if their price was a penny a dozen. The
poor lady tried to believe that they were spinning with vitality; but at
last she allowed me to break one, and lo! it had been half boiled by the
advertiser. "This is very sad," cried Mrs. Hockin; and the patient old
hen, who was come in a basket of hay to see the end of it, echoed with a
cluck that sentiment.

These things being so, I was left once more to follow my own guidance,
which had seemed, in the main, to be my fortune ever since my father
died. For one day Mr. Shovelin had appeared, to my great joy and
comfort, as a guide and guardian; but, alas! for one day only. And,
except for his good advice and kind paternal conduct to me, it seemed
at present an unlucky thing that I had ever discovered him. Not only
through deep sense of loss and real sorrow for him, but also because
Major Hockin, however good and great and generous, took it unreasonably
into his head that I threw him over, and threw myself (as with want of
fine taste he expressed it) into the arms of the banker. This hurt
me very much, and I felt that Major Hockin could never have spoken so
hastily unless his hair had been originally red; and so it might be
detected, even now, where it survived itself, though blanched where he
brushed it into that pretentious ridge. Sometimes I liked that man, when
his thoughts were large and liberal; but no sooner had he said a fine
brave thing than he seemed to have an after-thought not to go too
far with it; just as he had done about the poor robbed woman from the
steerage and the young man who pulled out his guinea. I paid him for
my board and lodging, upon a scale settled by Uncle Sam himself, at
California prices; therefore I am under no obligation to conceal his
foibles. But, take him altogether, he was good and brave and just,
though unable, from absence of inner light, to be to me what Uncle Sam
had been.

When I perceived that the Major condemned my simple behavior in London,
and (if I may speak it, as I said it to myself) "blew hot and cold" in
half a minute--hot when I thought of any good things to be done, and
cold as soon as he became the man to do them--also, when I remembered
what a chronic plague was now at Bruntsea, in the shape of Sir Montague,
who went to and fro, but could never be trusted to be far off, I
resolved to do what I had long been thinking of, and believed that
my guardian, if he had lived another day, would have recommended. I
resolved to go and see Lord Castlewood, my father's first cousin and
friend in need.

When I asked my host and hostess what they thought of this, they both
declared that it was the very thing they were at the point of advising,
which, however, they had forborne from doing because I never took
advice. At this, as being such a great exaggeration, I could not help
smiling seriously; but I could not accept their sage opinion that,
before I went to see my kinsman, I ought to write and ask his leave to
do so. For that would have made it quite a rude thing to call, as I
must still have done, if he should decline beforehand to receive me.
Moreover, it would look as if I sought an invitation, while only wanting
an interview. Therefore, being now full of money again, I hired the
flyman who had made us taste the water, and taking train at Newport, and
changing at two or three places as ordered, crossed many little streams,
and came to a fair river, which proved to be the Thames itself, a few
miles above Reading.

In spite of all the larger lessons of travel, adventure, and
tribulation, my heart was throbbing with some rather small feelings, as
for the first time I drew near to the home of my forefathers. I should
have been sorry to find it ugly or mean, or lying in a hole, or even
modern or insignificant; and when none of these charges could be brought
against it, I was filled with highly discreditable pain that Providence
had not seen fit to issue me into this world in the masculine form; in
which case this fine property would, according to the rules of mankind,
have been mine. However, I was very soon ashamed of such ideas, and sat
down on a bank to dispel them with the free and fair view around me.

The builder of that house knew well both where to place and how to shape
it, so as not to spoil the site. It stood near the brow of a bosoming
hill, which sheltered it, both with wood and clevice, from the rigor
and fury of the north and east; while in front the sloping foreground
widened its soft lap of green. In bays and waves of rolling grass,
promontoried, here and there, by jutting copse or massive tree, and
jotted now and then with cattle as calm as boats at anchor, the range
of sunny upland fell to the reedy fringe and clustered silence of deep
river meadows. Here the Thames, in pleasant bends of gentleness and
courtesy, yet with will of its own ways, being now a plenteous river,
spreads low music, and holds mirror to the woods and hills and fields,
casting afar a broad still gleam, and on the banks presenting tremulous
infinitude of flash.

Now these things touched me all the more because none of them belonged
to me; and, after thus trying to enlarge my views, I got up with much
better heart, and hurried on to have it over, whatever it might be.
A girl brought up in the real English way would have spent her last
shilling to drive up to the door in the fly at the station--a most sad
machine--but I thought it no disgrace to go in a more becoming manner.

One scarcely ever acts up to the force of situation; and I went as
quietly into that house as if it were Betsy Bowen's. If any body had
been rude to me, or asked who I was, or a little thing of that sort, my
spirit might have been up at once, and found, as usually happens then,
good reason to go down afterward. But happily there was nothing of the
kind. An elderly man, without any gaudy badges, opened the door very
quietly, and begged my pardon, before I spoke, for asking me to speak
softly. It was one of his lordship's very worst days, and when he was
so, every sound seemed to reach him. I took the hint, and did not speak
at all, but followed him over deep matting into a little room to which
he showed me. And then I gave him a little note, written before I left
Bruntsea, and asked him whether he thought that his master was well
enough to attend to it.

He looked at me in a peculiar manner, for he had known my father well,
having served from his youth in the family; but he only asked whether my
message was important. I answered that it was, but that I would wait for
another time rather than do any harm. But he said that, however ill his
master was, nothing provoked him more than to find that any thing was
neglected through it. And before I could speak again he was gone with my
letter to Lord Castlewood.



CHAPTER XXXII

AT HOME


Some of the miserable, and I might say strange, things which had
befallen me from time to time unseasonably, now began to force their
remembrance upon me. Such dark figures always seem to make the most of
a nervous moment, when solid reason yields to fluttering fear and small
misgivings. There any body seems to lie, as a stranded sailor lies, at
the foot of perpendicular cliffs of most inhuman humanity, with all the
world frowning down over the crest, and no one to throw a rope down.
Often and often had I felt this want of any one to help me, but the only
way out of it seemed to be to do my best to help myself.

Even, now I had little hope, having been so often dashed, and knowing
that my father's cousin possessed no share of my father's strength. He
might, at the utmost, give good advice, and help me with kind feeling;
but if he wanted to do more, surely he might have tried ere now. But my
thoughts about this were cut short by a message that he would be glad to
see me, and I followed the servant to the library.

Here I found Lord Castlewood sitting in a high-backed chair, uncushioned
and uncomfortable. When he saw me near him he got up and took my hand,
and looked at me, and I was pleased to find his face well-meaning,
brave, and generous. But even to rise from his chair was plainly no
small effort to him, and he leaned upon a staff or crutch as he offered
me a small white hand.

"Miss Castlewood," he said, with a very weak yet clear and silvery
voice, "for many years I have longed in vain and sought in vain to hear
of you. I have not escaped all self-reproach through my sense of want of
energy; yet, such as I am, I have done my best, or I do my best to think
so."

"I am sure you have," I replied, without thinking, knowing his kindness
to my father, and feeling the shame of my own hot words to Mr. Shovelin
about him. "I owe you more gratitude than I can tell, for your goodness
to my dear father. I am not come now to trouble you, but because it was
my duty."

While I was speaking he managed to lead me, feebly as himself could
walk, to a deep chair for reading, or some such use, whereof I have had
few chances. And in every step and word and gesture I recognized that
foreign grace which true-born Britons are proud to despise on both sides
of the Atlantic. And, being in the light, I watched him well, because I
am not a foreigner.

In the clear summer light of the westering sun (which is better for
accurate uses than the radiance of the morning) I saw a firm, calm face,
which might in good health have been powerful--a face which might be
called the moonlight image of my father's. I could not help turning away
to cry, and suspicion fled forever.

"My dear young cousin," he said, as soon as I was fit to speak to, "your
father trusted me, and so must you. You may think that I have forgotten
you, or done very little to find you out. It was no indifference, no
forgetfulness: I have not been able to work myself, and I have had very
deep trouble of my own."

He leaned on his staff, and looked down at me, for I had sat down when
thus overcome, and I knew that the forehead and eyes were those of a
learned and intellectual man. How I knew this it is impossible to say,
for I never had met with such a character as this, unless it were the
Abbe of Flechon, when I was only fourteen years old, and valued his
great skill in spinning a top tenfold more than all his deep learning.
Lord Castlewood had long, silky hair, falling in curls of silver gray
upon either side of his beautiful forehead, and the gaze of his soft
dark eyes was sad, gentle, yet penetrating. Weak health and almost
constant pain had chastened his delicate features to an expression
almost feminine, though firm thin lips and rigid lines showed masculine
will and fortitude. And when he spoke of his own trouble (which,
perhaps, he would not have done except for consolation's sake), I knew
that he meant something even more grievous than bodily anguish.

"It is hard," he said, "that you, so young and healthy and full of high
spirit as you are (unless your face belies you), should begin the best
years of your life, as common opinion puts such things, in such a cloud
of gloom and shame."

"There is no shame at all," I answered; "and if there is gloom, I am
used to that; and so was my father for years and years. What is my
trouble compared with his?"

"Your trouble is nothing when compared with his, so far as regards the
mere weight of it; but he was a strong man to carry his load; you are a
young and a sensitive woman. The burden may even be worse for you. Now
tell me all about yourself, and what has brought you to me."

His voice was so quiet and soothing that I seemed to rest beneath it. He
had not spoken once of religion or the will of God, nor plied me at all
with those pious allusions, which even to the reverent mind are like
illusions when so urged. Lord Castlewood had too deep a sense of the
will of God to know what it is; and he looked at me wistfully as at one
who might have worse experience of it.

Falling happily under his influence, as his clear, kind eyes met mine,
I told him every thing I could think of about my father and myself, and
all I wanted to do next, and how my heart and soul were set upon
getting to the bottom of every thing. And while I spoke with spirit, or
softness, or, I fear, sometimes with hate, I could not help seeing that
he was surprised, but not wholly displeased, with my energy. And then,
when all was exhausted, came the old question I had heard so often, and
found so hard to answer--

"And what do you propose to do next, Erema?"

"To go to the very place itself," I said, speaking strongly under
challenge, though quite unresolved about such a thing before; "to live
in the house where my father lived, and my mother and all of the family
died; and from day to day to search every corner and fish up every bit
of evidence, until I get hold of the true man at last, of the villain
who did it--who did it, and left my father and all the rest of us to be
condemned and die for it."

"Erema," replied my cousin, as he had told me now to call him, "you are
too impetuous for such work, and it is wholly unfit for you. For such a
task, persons of trained sagacity and keen observation are needed. And
after all these eighteen years, or nearly nineteen now it must be, there
can not be any thing to discover there."

"But if I like, may I go there, cousin, if only to satisfy my own mind?
I am miserable now at Bruntsea, and Sir Montague Hockin wears me out."

"Sir Montague Hockin!" Lord Castlewood exclaimed; "why, you did not tell
me that he was there. Wherever he is, you should not be."

"I forgot to speak of him. He does not live there, but is continually
to and fro for bathing, or fishing, or rabbit-shooting, or any other
pretext. And he makes the place very unpleasant to me, kind as the Major
and Mrs. Hockin are, because I can never make him out at all."

"Do not try to do so," my cousin answered, looking at me earnestly; "be
content to know nothing of him, my dear. If you can put up with a very
dull house, and a host who is even duller, come here and live with me,
as your father would have wished, and as I, your nearest relative, now
ask and beg of you."

This was wonderfully kind, and for a moment I felt tempted. Lord
Castlewood being an elderly man, and, as the head of our family, my
natural protector, there could be nothing wrong, and there might be much
that was good, in such an easy arrangement. But, on the other hand, it
seemed to me that after this my work would languish. Living in comfort
and prosperity under the roof of my forefathers, beyond any doubt I
should begin to fall into habits of luxury, to take to the love of
literature, which I knew to be latent within me, to lose the clear,
strong, practical sense of the duty for which I, the last of seven, was
spared, and in some measure, perhaps, by wanderings and by hardships,
fitted. And then I thought of my host's weak health, continual pain (the
signs of which were hardly repressed even while he was speaking), and
probably also his secluded life. Was it fair to force him, by virtue of
his inborn kindness and courtesy, to come out of his privileges and deal
with me, who could not altogether be in any place a mere nobody? And so
I refused his offer.

"I am very much obliged to you indeed," I said, "but I think you might
be sorry for it. I will come and stop with you every now and then, when
your health is better, and you ask me. But to live here altogether would
not do; I should like it too well, and do nothing else."

"Perhaps you are right," he replied, with the air of one who cares
little for any thing, which is to me the most melancholy thing, and
worse than any distress almost; "you are very young, my dear, and years
should be allowed to pass before you know what full-grown sorrow is. You
have had enough, for your age, of it. You had better not live in this
house; it is not a house for cheerfulness."

"Then if I must neither live here nor at Bruntsea," I asked, with sudden
remonstrance, feeling as if every body desired to be quit of me or to
worry me, "to what place in all the world am I to go, unless it is back
to America? I will go at once to Shoxford, and take lodgings of my own."

"Perhaps you had better wait a little while," Lord Castlewood answered,
gently, "although I would much rather have you at Shoxford than where
you are at present. But please to remember, my good Erema, that you can
not go to Shoxford all alone. I have a most faithful and trusty man--the
one who opened the door to you. He has been here before his remembrance.
He disdains me still as compared with your father. Will you have him to
superintend you? I scarcely see how you can do any good, but if you do
go, you must go openly, and as your father's daughter."

"I have no intention whatever of going in any other way, Lord
Castlewood; but perhaps," I continued, "it would be as well to make as
little stir as possible. Of an English village I know nothing but the
little I have seen at Bruntsea, but there they make a very great fuss
about any one who comes down with a man-servant."

"To be sure," replied my cousin, with a smile; "they would not be true
Britons otherwise. Perhaps you would do better without Stixon; but of
course you must not go alone. Could you by any means persuade your old
nurse Betsy to go with you?"

"How good of you to think of it!--how wise you are!" I really could not
help saying, as I gazed at his delicate and noble face. "I am sure that
if Betsy can come, she will; though of course she must be compensated
well for the waste all her lodgers will make of it. They are very
wicked, and eat most dreadfully if she even takes one day's holiday.
What do you think they even do? She has told me with tears in her eyes
of it. They are all allowed a pat of butter, a penny roll, and two
sardines for breakfast. No sooner do they know that her back is
turned--"

"Erema!" cried my cousin, with some surprise; and being so recalled,
I was ashamed. But I never could help taking interest in very little
things indeed, until my own common-sense, or somebody else, came to tell
me what a child I was. However, I do believe that Uncle Sam liked me all
the better for this fault.

"My dear, I did not mean to blame you," Lord Castlewood said, most
kindly; "it must be a great relief for you to look on at other people.
But tell me--or rather, since you have told me almost every thing you
know--let me, if only in one way I can help you, help you at least in
that way."

Knowing that he must mean money, I declined, from no false pride, but a
set resolve to work out my work, if possible, through my own resources.
But I promised to apply to him at once if scarcity should again befall
me, as had happened lately. And then I longed to ask him why he seemed
to have so low an opinion of Sir Montague Hockin. That question,
however, I feared to put, because it might not be a proper one, and
also because my cousin had spoken in a very strange tone, as if of some
private dislike or reserve on that subject. Moreover, it was too evident
that I had tried his courtesy long enough. From time to time pale shades
of bodily pain, and then hot flushes, had flitted across his face, like
clouds on a windy summer evening. And more than once he had glanced at
the time-piece, not to hurry me, but as if he dreaded its announcements.
It was a beautiful clock, and struck with a silvery sound every quarter
of an hour. And now, as I rose to say good-by, to catch my evening
train, it struck a quarter to five, and my cousin stood up, with his
weight upon his staff, and looked at me with an inexpressible depth of
weary misery.

"I have only a few minutes left," he said, "during which I can say any
thing. My time is divided into two sad parts: the time when I am capable
of very little, and the time when I am capable of nothing; and the
latter part is twice the length of the other. For sixteen hours of every
day, far better had I be dead than living, so far as our own little
insolence may judge. But I speak of it only to excuse bad manners, and
perhaps I show worse by doing so. I shall not be able to see you again
until to-morrow morning. Do not go; they will arrange all that. Send a
note to Major Hockin by Stixon's boy. Stixon and Mrs. Price will see to
your comfort, if those who are free from pain require any other comfort.
Forgive me; I did not mean to be rude. Sometimes I can not help giving
way."

Less enviable than the poorest slave, Lord Castlewood sank upon his hard
stiff chair, and straightened his long narrow hands upon his knees, and
set his thin lips in straight blue lines. Each hand was as rigid as the
ivory handle of an umbrella or walking-stick, and his lips were like
clamped wire. This was his regular way of preparing for the onset of
the night, so that no grimace, no cry, no moan, or other token of fierce
agony should be wrung from him.

"My lord will catch it stiff to-night," said Mr. Stixon, who came as I
rang, and then led me away to the drawing-room; "he always have it ten
times worse after any talking or any thing to upset him like. And so,
then, miss--excuse a humble servant--did I understand from him that you
was the Captain's own daughter?"

"Yes; but surely your master wants you--he is in such dreadful pain. Do
please to go to him, and do something."

"There is nothing to be done, miss," Stixon answered, with calm
resignation; "he is bound to stay so for sixteen hours, and then
he eases off again. But bless my heart, miss--excuse me in your
presence--his lordship is thoroughly used to it. It is my certain
knowledge that for seven years now he has never had seven minutes free
from pain--seven minutes all of a heap, I mean. Some do say, miss, as
the Lord doeth every thing according to His righteousness, that the
reason is not very far to seek."

I asked him what he meant, though I ought, perhaps, to have put a stop
to his loquacity; and he pretended not to hear, which made me ask him
all the more.

"A better man never lived than my lord," he answered, with a little
shock at my misprision; "but it has been said among censoorous persons
that nobody ever had no luck as came in suddenly to a property and a
high state of life on the top of the heads of a family of seven."

"What a poor superstition!" I cried, though I was not quite sure of its
being a wicked one. "But what is your master's malady, Stixon? Surely
there might be something done to relieve his violent pain, even if there
is no real cure for it?"

"No, miss, nothing can be done. The doctors have exorced themselves.
They tried this, that, and the other, but nature only flew worse against
them. 'Tis a thing as was never heard of till the Constitooshon was
knocked on the head and to pieces by the Reform Bill. And though they
couldn't cure it, they done what they could do, miss. They discovered a
very good name for it--they christened it the 'New-rager!'"



CHAPTER XXXIII

LORD CASTLEWOOD


In the morning, when I was called again to see my afflicted
cousin--Stixon junior having gladly gone to explain things for me at
Bruntsea--little as I knew of any bodily pain (except hunger, or thirst,
or weariness, and once in my life a headache), I stood before Lord
Castlewood with a deference and humility such as I had never felt before
toward any human being. Not only because he bore perpetual pain in
the two degrees of night and day--the day being dark and the night
jet-black--without a murmur or an evil word; not only because through
the whole of this he had kept his mind clear and his love of knowledge
bright; not even because he had managed, like Job, to love God through
the whole of it. All these were good reasons for very great and very
high respect of any man; and when there was no claim whatever on his
part to any such feeling, it needs must come. But when I learned another
thing, high respect at once became what might be called deep reverence.
And this came to pass in a simple and, as any one must confess, quite
inevitable way.

It was not to be supposed that I could sit the whole of my first evening
in that house without a soul to speak to. So far as my dignity and sense
of right permitted, I wore out Mr. Stixon, so far as he would go,
not asking him any thing that the very worst-minded person could call
"inquisitive," but allowing him to talk, as he seemed to like to do,
while he waited upon me, and alternately lamented my hapless history and
my hopeless want of taste.

"Ah, your father, the Captain, now, he would have knowed what this is!
You've no right to his eyes, Miss Erma, without his tongue and palate.
No more of this, miss! and done for you a-purpose! Well, cook will be
put out, and no mistake! I better not let her see it go down, anyhow."
And the worthy man tearfully put some dainty by, perhaps without any
view to his own supper.

"Lord Castlewood spoke to me about a Mrs. Price--the housekeeper, is
she not?" I asked at last, being so accustomed to like what I could get,
that the number of dishes wearied me.

"Oh yes, miss," said Stixon, very shortly, as if that description
exhausted Mrs. Price.

"If she is not too busy, I should like to see her as soon as these
things are all taken away. I mean if she is not a stranger, and if she
would like to see me."

"No new-comers here," Mr. Stixon replied; "we all works our way up
regular, the same as my lad is beginning for to do. New-fangled ways is
not accepted here. We puts the reforming spirits scrubbing of the steps
till their knuckles is cracked and their knees like a bean. The old lord
was the man for discipline--your grandfather, if you please, miss. He
catched me when I were about that high--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Stixon; but would he have encouraged you to talk as you
so very kindly talk to me, instead of answering a question?"

I thought that poor Stixon would have been upset by this, and was angry
with myself for saying it; but instead of being hurt, he only smiled and
touched his forehead.

"Well, now, you did remind me uncommon of him then, miss. I could
have heard the old lord speak almost, though he were always harsh and
distant. And as I was going for to say, he catched me fifty years agone
next Lammas-tide; a pear-tree of an early sort it was; you may see the
very tree if you please to stand here, miss, though the pears is quite
altered now, and scarcely fit to eat. Well, I was running off with my
cap chock-full, miss--"

"Please to keep that story for another time," I said; "I shall be most
happy to hear it then. But I have a particular wish, if you please, to
see Mrs. Price before dark, unless there is any good reason why I should
not."

"Oh no, Miss Erma, no reason at all. Only please to bear in mind,
miss, that she is a coorous woman. She is that jealous, and I might say
forward--"

"Then she is capable of speaking for herself."

"You are right, miss, there, and no mistake. She can speak for herself
and for fifty others--words enough, I mean, for all of them. But I would
not have her know for all the world that I said it."

"Then if you do not send her to me at once, the first thing I shall do
will be to tell her."

"Oh no, miss, none of your family would do that; that never has been
done anonymous."

I assured him that my threat was not in earnest, but of pure impatience.
And having no motive but downright jealousy for keeping Mrs. Price from
me, he made up his mind at last to let her come. But he told me to be
careful what I said; I must not expect it to be at all like talking to
himself, for instance.

The housekeeper came up at last, by dint of my persistence, and she
stopped in the doorway and made me a courtesy, which put me out of
countenance, for nobody ever does that in America, and scarcely any one
in England now, except in country-dancing. Instead of being as described
by Stixon, Mrs. Price was of a very quiet, sensible, and respectful
kind. She was rather short, but looked rather tall, from her even
walk and way of carrying her head. Her figure was neat, and her face
clear-spoken, with straight pretty eyebrows, and calm bright eyes. I
felt that I could tell her almost any thing, and she would think
before she talked of it. And in my strong want of some woman to advise
with--Betsy Bowen being very good but very narrow, and Mrs. Hockin a
mere echo of the Major until he contradicted her, and Suan Isco, with
her fine, large views, five thousand miles out of sight just now--this
was a state of things to enhance the value of any good countenance
feminine.

At any rate, I was so glad to see her that, being still ungraduated in
the steps of rank (though beginning to like a good footing there), I ran
up and took her by both hands, and fetched her out of her grand courtesy
and into a low chair. At this she was surprised, as one quick glance
showed; and she thought me, perhaps, what is called in England "an
impulsive creature." This put me again upon my dignity, for I never have
been in any way like that, and I clearly perceived that she ought to
understand a little more distinctly my character.

It is easy to begin with this intention, but very hard indeed to keep
it up when any body of nice ways and looks is sitting with a proper
deferential power of listening, and liking one's young ideas, which
multiply and magnify themselves at each demand. So after some general
talk about the weather, the country, the house, and so on, we came to
the people of the house, or at any rate the chief person. And I asked
her a few quiet questions about Lord Castlewood's health and habits, and
any thing else she might like to tell me. For many things had seemed
to me a little strange and out of the usual course, and on that account
worthy to be spoken of without common curiosity. Mrs. Price told me that
there were many things generally divulged and credited, which therefore
lay in her power to communicate without any derogation from her office.
Being pleased with these larger words (which I always have trouble in
pronouncing), I asked her whether there was any thing else. And she
answered yes, but unhappily of a nature to which it was scarcely
desirable to allude in my presence. I told her that this was not
satisfactory, and I might say quite the opposite; that having "alluded"
to whatever it might be, she was bound to tell me all about it. That
I had lived in very many countries, in all of which wrong things
continually went on, of which I continually heard just in that sort of
way and no more. Enough to make one uncomfortable, but not enough to
keep one instructed and vigilant as to things that ought to be avoided.
Upon this she yielded either to my arguments or to her own dislike
of unreasonable silence, and gave me the following account of the
misfortunes of Lord Castlewood:

Herbert William Castlewood was the third son of Dean Castlewood, a
younger brother of my grandfather, and was born in the year 1806. He
was older, therefore, than my father, but still (even before my father's
birth, which provided a direct heir) there were many lives betwixt him
and the family estates. And his father, having as yet no promotion in
the Church, found it hard to bring up his children. The eldest son got
a commission in the army, and the second entered the navy, while Herbert
was placed in a bank at Bristol--not at all the sort of life which he
would have chosen. But being of a gentle, unselfish nature, as well as a
weak constitution, he put up with his state in life, and did his best to
give satisfaction.

This calm courage generally has its reward, and in the year 1842, not
very long before the death of my grandfather at Shoxford, Mr. Herbert
Castlewood, being well-connected, well-behaved, diligent, and pleasing,
obtained a partnership in the firm, which was, perhaps, the foremost in
the west of England. His two elder brothers happened then to be at home,
Major and Commander Castlewood, each of whom had seen very hard service,
and found it still harder slavery to make both ends meet, although
bachelors. But, returning full of glory, they found one thing harder
still, and that was to extract any cash from their father, the highly
venerated Dean, who in that respect, if in no other, very closely
resembled the head of the family. Therefore these brave men resolved to
go and see their Bristol brother, to whom they were tenderly attached,
and who now must have money enough and to spare. So they wrote to their
brother to meet them on the platform, scarcely believing that they could
be there in so short a time from London; for they never had travelled by
rail before; and they set forth in wonderful spirits, and laughed at
the strange, giddy rush of the travelling, and made bets with each other
about punctual time (for trains kept much better time while new), and,
as long as they could time it, they kept time to a second. But, sad to
relate, they wanted no chronometers when they arrived at Bristol, both
being killed at a blow, with their watches still going, and a smile
on their faces. For the train had run into a wall of Bath stone, and
several of the passengers were killed.

The sight of his two brothers carried out like this, after so many years
of not seeing them, was too much for Mr. Herbert Castlewood's nerves,
which always had been delicate. And he shivered all the more from
reproach of conscience, having made up his mind not to lend them any
money, as a practical banker was compelled to do. And from that very
moment he began to feel great pain.

Mrs. Price assured me that the doctors all agreed that nothing but
change of climate could restore Mr. Castlewood's tone and system, and
being full of art (though so simple, as she said, which she could not
entirely reconcile), he set off for Italy, and there he stopped, with
the good leave of his partners, being now valued highly as heir to the
Dean, who was known to have put a good trifle together. And in Italy
my father must have found him, as related by Mr. Shovelin, and there
received kindness and comfort in his trouble, if trouble so deep could
be comforted.

Now I wondered and eagerly yearned to know whether my father, at such
a time, and in such a state of loneliness, might not have been led to
impart to his cousin and host and protector the dark mystery which lay
at the bottom of his own conduct. Knowing how resolute and stern he was,
and doubtless then imbittered by the wreck of love and life, I thought
it more probable that he had kept silence even toward so near a
relative, especially as he had seen very little of his cousin Herbert
till he had found him thus. Moreover, my grandfather and the Dean had
spent little brotherly love on each other, having had a life-long feud
about a copy-hold furze brake of nearly three-quarters of an acre, as
Betsy remembered to have heard her master say.

To go on, however, with what Mrs. Price was saying. She knew scarcely
any thing about my father, because she was too young at that time to
be called into the counsels of the servants' hall, for she scarcely was
thirty-five yet, as she declared, and she certainly did not look forty.
But all about the present Lord Castlewood she knew better than any body
else, perhaps, because she had been in the service of his wife, and,
indeed, her chief attendant. Then, having spoken of her master's wife,
Mrs. Price caught herself up, and thenceforth called her only his
"lady."

Mr. Herbert Castlewood, who had minded his business for so many years,
and kept himself aloof from ladies, spending all his leisure in good
literature, at this time of life and in this state of health (for the
shock he had received struck inward), fell into an accident tenfold
worse--the fatal accident of love. And this malady raged the more
powerfully with him on account of breaking out so late in life. In one
of the picture-galleries at Florence, or some such place, Mrs. Price
declared, he met with a lady who made all the pictures look cold and
dull and dead to him. A lovely young creature she must have been (as
even Mrs. Price, who detested her, acknowledged), and to the eyes of a
learned but not keen man as good as lovely. My father was gone to look
after me, and fetch me out of England, but even if he had been there,
perhaps he scarcely could have stopped it; for this Mr. Castlewood,
although so quiet, had the family fault of tenacity.

Mrs. Price, being a very steady person, with a limited income, and
enough to do, was inclined to look down upon the state of mind in which
Mr. Castlewood became involved. She was not there at the moment, of
course, but suddenly sent for when all was settled; nevertheless, she
found out afterward how it began from her master's man, through what he
had for dinner. And in the kitchen-garden at Castlewood no rampion
would she allow while she lived. I asked her whether she had no pity, no
sympathy, no fine feeling, and how she could have become Mrs. Price if
she never had known such sentiments. But she said that they only called
her "Mistress" on account of her authority, and she never had been drawn
to the opposite sex, though many times asked in marriage. And what she
had seen of matrimony led her far away from it. I was sorry to hear her
say this, and felt damped, till I thought that the world was not all
alike.

Then she told me, just as if it were no more than a bargain for a pound
of tallow candles, how Mr. Herbert Castlewood, patient and persistent,
was kept off and on for at least two years by the mother of his sweet
idol. How the old lady held a balance in her mind as to the likelihood
of his succession, trying, through English friends, to find the value
and the course of property. Of what nation she was, Mrs. Price could
not say, and only knew that it must be a bad one. She called herself the
Countess of Ixorism, as truly pronounced in English; and she really was
of good family too, so far as any foreigner can be. And her daughter's
name was Flittamore, not according to the right spelling, perhaps, but
pronounced with the proper accent.

Flittamore herself did not seem to care, according to what Mrs. Price
had been told, but left herself wholly in her mother's hands, being sure
of her beauty still growing upon her, and desiring to have it admired
and praised. And the number of foreigners she always had about her
sometimes made her real lover nearly give her up. But, alas! he was not
quite wise enough for this, with all that he had read and learned and
seen. Therefore, when it was reported from Spain that my father had
been killed by bandits--the truth being that he was then in Greece--the
Countess at last consented to the marriage of her daughter with Herbert
Castlewood, and even seemed to press it forward for some reasons of her
own. And the happy couple set forth upon their travels, and Mrs. Price
was sent abroad to wait upon the lady.

For a few months they seemed to get on very well, Flittamore showing
much affection for her husband, whose age was a trifle more than her own
doubled, while he was entirely wrapped up in her, and labored that the
graces of her mind might be worthy to compare with those more visible.
But her spiritual face and most sweet poetic eyes were vivid with bodily
brilliance alone. She had neither mind enough to learn, nor heart enough
to pretend to learn.

It is out of my power to describe such things, even if it were my duty
to do so, which, happily, it has never been; moreover, Mrs. Price, in
what she told me, exercised a just and strict reserve. Enough that Mr.
Castlewood's wedded life was done with in six months and three days.
Lady Castlewood, as she would be called, though my father still was
living and his cousin disclaimed the title--away she ran from some dull
German place, after a very stiff lesson in poetry, and with her ran off
a young Englishman, the present Sir Montague Hockin. He was Mr. Hockin
then, and had not a half-penny of his own; but Flittamore met that
difficulty by robbing her husband to his last farthing.

This had happened about twelve years back, soon after I was placed at
the school in Languedoc, to which I was taken so early in life that
I almost forget all about it. But it might have been better for poor
Flittamore if she had been brought up at a steady place like that, with
sisters and ladies of retreat, to teach her the proper description of
her duties to mankind. I seemed now in my own mind to condemn her quite
enough, feeling how superior her husband must have been; but Mrs. Price
went even further, and became quite indignant that any one should pity
her.

"A hussy! a hussy! a poppet of a hussy!" she exclaimed, with greater
power than her quiet face could indicate; "never would I look at her.
Speak never so, Miss Castlewood. My lord is the very best of all men,
and she has made him what he is. The pity she deserves is to be trodden
under foot, as I saw them do in Naples."

After all the passion I had seen among rough people, I scarcely could
help trembling at the depth of wrath dissembled and firmly controlled
in calm clear eyes under very steadfast eyebrows. It was plain that Lord
Castlewood had, at any rate, the gift of being loved by his dependents.

"I hope that he took it aright!" I cried, catching some of her
indignation; "I hope that he cast her to the winds, without even a sigh
for such a cruel creature!"

"He was not strong enough," she answered, sadly; "his bodily health was
not equal to it. From childhood he had been partly crippled and spoiled
in his nerves by an accident. And the shock of that sight at Bristol
flew to his weakness, and was too much for him. And now this third and
worst disaster, coming upon him where his best hope lay, and at such a
time of life, took him altogether off his legs. And off his head too,
I might almost say, miss; for, instead of blaming her, he put the fault
entirely upon himself. At his time of life, and in such poor health, he
should not have married a bright young girl: how could he ever hope to
make her happy? That was how he looked at it, when he should have sent
constables after her."

"And what became of her--the mindless animal, to forsake so good and
great a man! I do hope she was punished, and that vile man too."

"She was, Miss Castlewood; but he was not; at least he has not received
justice yet. But he will, he will, he will, miss. The treacherous thief!
And my lord received him as a young fellow-countryman under a cloud, and
lent him money, and saved him from starving; for he had broken with his
father and was running from his creditors."

"Tell me no more," I said; "not another word. It is my fate to meet
that--well, that gentleman--almost every day. And he, and he--oh, how
thankful I am to have found out all this about him!"

The above will show why, when I met my father's cousin on the following
morning--with his grand, calm face, as benevolent as if he had passed a
night of luxurious rest instead of sleepless agony--I knew myself to be
of a lower order in mind and soul and heart than his; a small, narrow,
passionate girl, in the presence of a large, broad-sighted, and
compassionate man.

I threw myself altogether on his will; for, when I trust, I trust
wholly. And, under his advice, I did not return with any rash haste to
Bruntsea, but wrote in discharge of all duty there; while Mrs. Price, a
clear and steadfast woman, was sent to London to see Wilhelmina Strouss.
These two must have had very great talks together, and, both being
zealous and faithful, they came to many misunderstandings. However, on
the whole, they became very honest friends, and sworn allies at last,
discovering more, the more they talked, people against whom they felt a
common and just enmity.



CHAPTER XXXIV

SHOXFORD


Are there people who have never, in the course of anxious life, felt
desire to be away, to fly away, from every thing, however good and dear
to them, and rest a little, and think new thought, or let new thought
flow into them, from the gentle air of some new place, where nobody has
heard of them--a place whose cares, being felt by proxy, almost seem
romantic, and where the eyes spare brain and heart with a critic's
self-complacence? If any such place yet remains, the happy soul may seek
it in an inland English village.

A village where no billows are to stun or to confound it, no crag or
precipice to trouble it with giddiness, and where no hurry of restless
tide makes time, its own father, uneasy. But in the quiet, at the bottom
of the valley, a beautiful rivulet, belonging to the place, hastens or
lingers, according to its mood; hankering here and there, not to be away
yet; and then, by the doing of its own work, led to a swift perplexity
of ripples. Here along its side, and there softly leaning over it, fresh
green meadows lie reposing in the settled meaning of the summer day. For
this is a safer time of year than the flourish of the spring-tide, when
the impulse of young warmth awaking was suddenly smitten by the bleak
east wind, and cowslip and cuckoo-flower and speedwell got their bright
lips browned with cold. Then, moreover, must the meads have felt the
worry of scarcely knowing yet what would be demanded of them; whether to
carry an exacting load of hay, or only to feed a few sauntering cows.

But now every trouble has been settled for the best; the long grass
is mown, and the short grass browsed, and capers of the fairies and
caprices of the cows have dappled worn texture with a deeper green.
Therefore let eyes that are satisfied here--as any but a very bad eye
must be, with so many changes of softness--follow the sweet lead of the
valley; and there, in a bend of the gently brawling river, stands the
never-brawling church.

A church less troubled with the gift of tongues is not to be found in
England: a church of gray stone that crumbles just enough to entice
frail mortal sympathy, and confesses to the storms it has undergone in
a tone that conciliates the human sigh. The tower is large, and high
enough to tell what the way of the wind is without any potato-bury on
the top, and the simple roof is not cruciated with tiles of misguided
fancy. But gray rest, and peace of ages, and content of lying calmly
six feet deeper than the bustle of the quick; memory also, and oblivion,
following each other slowly, like the shadows of the church-yard
trees--for all of these no better place can be, nor softer comfort.

For the village of Shoxford runs up on the rise, and straggles away from
its burial-place, as a child from his school goes mitching. There are
some few little ups and downs in the manner of its building, as well as
in other particulars about it; but still it keeps as parallel with the
crooked river as the far more crooked ways of men permit. But the whole
of the little road of houses runs down the valley from the church-yard
gate; and above the church, looking up the pretty valley, stands nothing
but the mill and the plank bridge below it; and a furlong above that
again the stone bridge, where the main road crosses the stream, and is
consoled by leading to a big house--the Moonstock Inn.

The house in which my father lived so long--or rather, I should say, my
mother, while he was away with his regiment--and where we unfortunate
seven saw the light, stands about half-way down the little village,
being on the right-hand side of the road as you come down the valley
from the Moonstock bridge. Therefore it is on the further and upper side
of the street--if it can be called a street--from the valley and the
river and the meads below the mill, inasmuch as every bit of Shoxford,
and every particle of the parish also, has existence--of no mean sort,
as compared with other parishes, in its own esteem--on the right side of
the river Moon.

My father's house, in this good village, standing endwise to the street,
was higher at one end than at the other. That is to say, the ground came
sloping, or even falling, as fairly might be said, from one end to the
other of it, so that it looked like a Noah's ark tilted by Behemoth
under the stern-post. And a little lane, from a finely wooded hill, here
fell steeply into the "High Street" (as the grocer and the butcher loved
to call it), and made my father's house most distinct, by obeying a
good deal of its outline, and discharging in heavy rain a free supply of
water under the weather-board of our front-door. This front-door opened
on the little steep triangle formed by the meeting of lane and road,
while the back-door led into a long but narrow garden running along the
road, but raised some feet above it; the bank was kept up by a rough
stone wall crested with stuck-up snap-dragon and valerian, and
faced with rosettes and disks and dills of houseleek, pennywort, and
hart's-tongue.

Betsy and I were only just in time to see the old house as it used to
be; for the owner had died about half a year ago, and his grandson,
having proved his will, was resolved to make short work with it. The
poor house was blamed for the sorrows it had sheltered, and had the
repute of two spectres, as well as the pale shadow of misfortune. For my
dear father was now believed by the superstitious villagers to haunt the
old home of his happiness and love, and roam from room to room in search
of his wife and all his children. But his phantom was most careful not
to face that of his father, which stalked along haughtily, as behooved
a lord, and pointed forever to a red wound in its breast. No wonder,
therefore, that the house would never let; and it would have been
pulled down long ago if the owner had not felt a liking for it, through
memories tender and peculiar to himself. His grandson, having none of
these to contend with, resolved to make a mere stable of it, and build
a public-house at the bottom of the garden, and turn the space between
them into skittle-ground, and so forth.

To me this seemed such a very low idea, and such a desecration of a
sacred spot, that if I had owned any money to be sure of, I would have
offered hundreds to prevent it. But I found myself now in a delicate
state of mind concerning money, having little of my own, and doubting
how much other people might intend for me. So that I durst not offer to
buy land and a house without any means to pay.

And it was not for that reason only that Betsy and I kept ourselves
quiet. We knew that any stir in this little place about us--such as my
name might at once set going--would once for all destroy all hope
of doing good by coming. Betsy knew more of such matters than I did,
besides all her knowledge of the place itself, and her great superiority
of age; therefore I left to her all little management, as was in every
way fair and wise. For Mrs. Strouss had forsaken a large and good
company of lodgers, with only Herr Strouss to look after them--and
who was he among them? If she trod on one side of her foot, or felt a
tingling in her hand, or a buzzing in her ear, she knew in a moment what
it was--of pounds and pounds was she being cheated, a hundred miles off,
by foreigners!

For this reason it had cost much persuasion and many appeals to her
faithfulness, as well as considerable weekly payment, ere ever my good
nurse could be brought away from London; and perhaps even so she never
would have come if I had not written myself to Mrs. Price, then visiting
Betsy in European Square, that if the landlady was too busy to be
spared by her lodgers, I must try to get Lord Castlewood to spare me
his housekeeper. Upon this Mrs. Strouss at once declared that Mrs.
Price would ruin every thing; and rather than that--no matter what she
lost--she herself would go with me. And so she did, and she managed very
well, keeping my name out of sight (for, happen what might, I would have
no false one); and she got quiet lodgings in her present name, which
sounded nicely foreign; and the village being more agitated now about my
father's material house, and the work they were promised in pulling it
down, than about his shattered household, we had a very favorable time
for coming in, and were pronounced to be foreigners who must not be
allowed to run up bills.

This rustic conclusion suited us quite well, and we soon confirmed it
unwittingly, Betsy offering a German thaler and I an American dollar at
the shop of the village chandler and baker, so that we were looked upon
with some pity, and yet a kind desire for our custom. Thus, without any
attempt of ours at either delusion or mystery, Mrs. Strouss was hailed
throughout the place as "Madam Straw," while I, through the sagacity
of a deeply read shoe-maker, obtained a foreign name, as will by-and-by
appear.

We lodged at the post-office, not through any wisdom or even any thought
on our part, but simply because we happened there to find the cleanest
and prettiest rooms in the place. For the sun being now in the height
of August, and having much harvest to ripen, at middle day came ramping
down the little street of Shoxford like the chairman of the guild of
bakers. Every house having lately brightened up its whitewash--which
they always do there when the frosts are over, soon after the feast of
St. Barnabas--and the weeds of the way having fared amiss in the absence
of any water-cart, it was not in the strong, sharp character of the sun
to miss such an opportunity. After the red Californian glare, I had no
fear of any English sun; but Betsy was frightened, and both of us were
glad to get into a little place sheltered by green blinds. This chanced
to be the post-office, and there we found nice lodgings.

By an equal chance this proved to be the wisest thing we could possibly
have done, if we had set about it carefully. For why, that nobody ever
would impute any desire of secrecy to people who straightway unpacked
their boxes at the very head-quarters of all the village news. And the
mistress of the post was a sharp-tongued woman, pleased to speak freely
of her neighbors' doings, and prompt with good advice that they should
heed their own business, if any of them durst say a word about her own.
She kept a tidy little shop, showing something of almost every thing;
but we had a side door, quite of our own, where Betsy met the baker's
wife and the veritable milkman; and neither of them knew her, which was
just what she had hoped; and yet it made her speak amiss of them.

But if all things must be brought to the harsh test of dry reason, I
myself might be hard pushed to say what good I hoped to do by coming
thus to Shoxford. I knew of a great many things, for certain, that never
had been thoroughly examined here; also I naturally wished to see, being
a native, what the natives were; and, much more than that, it was always
on my mind that here lay my mother and the other six of us.

Therefore it was an impatient thing for me to hear Betsy working out the
afternoon with perpetual chatter and challenge of prices, combating now
as a lodger all those points which as a landlady she never would allow
even to be moot questions. If any applicant in European Square had dared
so much as hint at any of all the requirements which she now expected
gratis, she would simply have whisked her duster, and said that the
lodgings for such people must be looked for down the alley. However,
Mrs. Busk, our new landlady, although she had a temper of her own (as
any one keeping a post-office must have) was forced by the rarity
of lodgers here to yield many points, which Mrs. Strouss, on her own
boards, would not even have allowed to be debated. All this was entirely
against my wish; for when I have money, I spend it, finding really no
other good in it; but Betsy told me that the purest principle of all
was--not to be cheated.

So I left her to have these little matters out, and took that occasion
for stealing away (as the hours grew on toward evening) to a place where
I wished to be quite alone. And the shadow of the western hills shed
peace upon the valley, when I crossed a little stile leading into
Shoxford church-yard.

For a minute or two I was quite afraid, seeing nobody any where about,
nor even hearing any sound in the distance to keep me company. For the
church lay apart from the village, and was thickly planted out from it,
the living folk being full of superstition, and deeply believing in the
dead people's ghosts. And even if this were a wife to a husband, or even
a husband reappearing to his wife, there was not a man or a woman in the
village that would not run away from it.

This I did not know at present, not having been there long enough;
neither had I any terror of that sort, not being quite such a coward, I
should hope. But still, as the mantles of the cold trees darkened, and
the stony remembrance of the dead grew pale, and of the living there was
not even the whistle of a grave-digger--my heart got the better of
my mind for a moment, and made me long to be across that stile again.
Because (as I said to myself) if there had been a hill to go up, that
would be so different and so easy; but going down into a place like
this, whence the only escape must be by steps, and where any flight must
be along channels that run in and out of graves and tombstones, I tried
not to be afraid, yet could not altogether help it.

But lo! when I came to the north side of the tower, scarcely thinking
what to look for, I found myself in the middle of a place which made me
stop and wonder. Here were six little grassy tuffets, according to the
length of children, all laid east and west, without any stint of room,
harmoniously.

From the eldest to the youngest, one could almost tell the age at which
their lowly stature stopped, and took its final measurement.

And in the middle was a larger grave, to comfort and encourage them, as
a hen lies down among her chicks and waits for them to shelter. Without
a name to any of them, all these seven graves lay together, as in a
fairy ring of rest, and kind compassion had prevented any stranger from
coming to be buried there.

I would not sit on my mother's grave for fear of crushing the pretty
grass, which some one tended carefully; but I stood at its foot, and
bent my head, and counted all the little ones. Then I thought of my
father in the grove of peaches, more than six thousand miles away, on
the banks of the soft Blue River. And a sense of desolate sorrow and of
the blessing of death overwhelmed me.



CHAPTER XXXV

THE SEXTON


With such things in my mind, it took me long to come back to my work
again. It even seemed a wicked thing, so near to all these proofs of
God's great visitation over us, to walk about and say, "I will do this,"
or even to think, "I will try to do that." My own poor helplessness, and
loss of living love to guide me, laid upon my heart a weight from which
it scarcely cared to move. All was buried, all was done with, all had
passed from out the world, and left no mark but graves behind. What good
to stir anew such sadness, even if a poor weak thing like me could move
its mystery?

Time, however, and my nurse Betsy, and Jacob Rigg the gardener, brought
me back to a better state of mind, and renewed the right courage
within me. But, first of all, Jacob Rigg aroused my terror and interest
vividly. It may be remembered that this good man had been my father's
gardener at the time of our great calamity, and almost alone of the
Shoxford people had shown himself true and faithful. Not that the
natives had turned against us, or been at all unfriendly; so far from
this was the case, that every one felt for our troubles, and pitied us,
my father being of a cheerful and affable turn, until misery hardened
him; but what I mean is that only one or two had the courage to go
against the popular conclusion and the convictions of authority.

But Jacob was a very upright man, and had a strong liking for his
master, who many and many a time--as he told me--had taken a spade and
dug along with him, just as if he were a jobbing gardener born, instead
of a fine young nobleman; "and nobody gifted with that turn of mind,
likewise very clever in white-spine cowcumbers, could ever be relied
upon to go and shoot his father." Thus reasoned old Jacob, and he always
had done so, and meant evermore to abide by it; and the graves which
he had tended now for nigh a score of years, and meant to tend till
he called for his own, were--as sure as he stood there in Shoxford
church-yard a-talking to me, who was the very image of my father, God
bless me, though not of course so big like--the graves of slaughtered
innocents, and a mother who was always an angel. And the parson might
preach forever to him about the resurrection, and the right coming
uppermost when you got to heaven, but to his mind that was scarcely any
count at all; and if you came to that, we ought to hang Jack Ketch, as
might come to pass in the Revelations. But while a man had got his own
bread to earn, till his honor would let him go to the work-house, and
his duty to the rate-payers, there was nothing that vexed him more than
to be told any texts of Holy Scripture. Whatever God Almighty had put
down there was meant for ancient people, the Jews being long the most
ancient people, though none the more for that did he like them; and
so it was mainly the ancient folk, who could not do a day's work worth
eighteenpence, that could enter into Bible promises. Not that he was at
all behindhand about interpretation; but as long as he could fetch and
earn, at planting box and doing borders, two shillings and ninepence a
day and his beer, he was not going to be on for kingdom come.

I told him that I scarcely thought his view of our condition here would
be approved by wise men who had found time to study the subject. But he
answered that whatever their words might be, their doings showed that
they knew what was the first thing to attend to. And if it ever happened
him to come across a parson who was as full of heaven outside as he
was inside his surplice, he would keep his garden in order for nothing
better than his blessing.

I knew of no answer to be made to this. And indeed he seemed to be aware
that his conversation was too deep for me; so he leaned upon his spade,
and rubbed his long blue chin in the shadow of the church tower, holding
as he did the position of sexton, and preparing even now to dig a grave.

"I keeps them well away from you," he said, as he began to chop out a
new oblong in the turf; "many a shilling have I been offered by mothers
about their little ones, to put 'em inside of the 'holy ring,' as we
calls this little cluster; but not for five golden guineas would I do
it, and have to face the Captain, dead or alive, about it. We heard that
he was dead, because it was put in all the papers; and a pleasant place
I keeps for him, to come home alongside of his family. A nicer gravelly
bit of ground there couldn't be in all the county; and if no chance of
him occupying it, I can drive down a peg with your mark, miss."

"Thank you," I answered; "you are certainly most kind; but, Mr. Rigg, I
would rather wait a little. I have had a very troublesome life thus far,
and nothing to bind me to it much; but still I would rather not have my
peg driven down just--just at present."

"Ah, you be like all the young folk that think the tree for their
coffins ain't come to the size of this spade handle yet. Lord bless you
for not knowing what He hath in hand! Now this one you see me a-raising
of the turf for, stood as upright as you do, a fortnight back, and as
good about the chest and shoulders, and three times the color in her
cheeks, and her eyes a'most as bright as yourn be. Not aristocratic,
you must understand me, miss, being only the miller's daughter, nor
instructed to throw her voice the same as you do, which is better than
gallery music; but setting these haxidents to one side, a farmer would
have said she was more preferable, because more come-at-able, though not
in my opinion to be compared--excuse me for making so free, miss, but
when it comes to death we has a kind of right to do it--and many a young
farmer, coming to the mill, was disturbed in his heart about her, and
far and wide she was known, being proud, as the Beauty of the Moonshine,
from the name of our little river. She used to call me 'Jacob Diggs,'
because of my porochial office, with a meaning of a joke on my parenshal
name. Ah, what a merry one she were! And now this is what I has to do
for her! And sooner would I 'a doed it a'most for my own old ooman!"

"Oh, Jacob!" I cried, being horrified at the way in which he tore up the
ground, as if his wife was waiting, "the things you say are quite wrong,
I am sure, for a man in your position. You are connected with this
church almost as much as the clerk is."

"More, miss, ten times more! He don't do nothing but lounge on the front
of his desk, and be too lazy to keep up 'Amen,' while I at my time of
life go about, from Absolution to the fifth Lord's prayer, with a stick
that makes my rheumatics worse, for the sake of the boys with their
pocket full of nuts. When I was a boy there was no nuts, except at the
proper time of year, a month or two on from this time of speaking; and
we used to crack they in the husk, and make no noise to disturb the
congregation; but now it is nuts, nuts, round nuts, flat nuts, nuts with
three corners to them--all the year round nuts to crack, and me to find
out who did it!"

"But, Mr. Rigg," I replied, as he stopped, looking hotter in mind than
in body, "is it not Mrs. Rigg, your good wife, who sells all the nuts on
a Saturday for the boys to crack on a Sunday?"

"My missus do sell some, to be sure; yes, just a few. But not of a
Saturday more than any other day."

"Then surely, Mr. Rigg, you might stop it, by not permitting any sale
of nuts except to good boys of high principles. And has it not happened
sometimes, Mr. Rigg, that boys have made marks on their nuts, and bought
them again at your shop on a Monday? I mean, of course, when your duty
has compelled you to empty the pockets of a boy in church."

Now this was a particle of shamefully small gossip, picked up naturally
by my Betsy, but pledged to go no further; and as soon as I had spoken
I became a little nervous, having it suddenly brought to my mind that I
had promised not even to whisper it; and now I had told it to the man of
all men! But Jacob appeared to have been quite deaf, and diligently went
on digging. And I said "good-evening," for the grave was for the morrow;
and he let me go nearly to the stile before he stuck his spade into the
ground and followed.

"Excoose of my making use," he said, "of a kind of a personal reference,
miss; but you be that pat with your answers, it maketh me believe you
must be sharp inside--more than your father, the poor Captain, were, as
all them little grass buttons argueth. Now, miss, if I thought you had
head-piece enough to keep good counsel and ensue it, maybe I could tell
you a thing as would make your hair creep out of them coorous hitch-ups,
and your heart a'most bust them there braids of fallallies."

"Why, what in the world do you mean?" I asked, being startled by the old
man's voice and face.

"Nothing, miss, nothing. I was only a-joking. If you bain't come to no
more discretion than that--to turn as white as the clerk's smock-frock
of a Easter-Sunday--why, the more of a joke one has, the better, to
bring your purty color back to you. Ah! Polly of the mill was the maid
for color--as good for the eyesight as a chaney-rose in April. Well,
well, I must get on with her grave; they're a-coming to speak the good
word over un on sundown."

He might have known how this would vex and perplex me. I could not bear
to hinder him in his work--as important as any to be done by man for
man--and yet it was beyond my power to go home and leave him there,
and wonder what it was that he had been so afraid to tell. So I quietly
said, "Then I will wish you a very good evening again, Mr. Rigg, as you
are too busy to be spoken with." And I walked off a little way, having
met with men who, having begun a thing, needs must have it out, and
fully expecting him to call me back. But Jacob only touched his hat, and
said, "A pleasant evening to you, ma'am."

Nothing could have made me feel more resolute than this did. I did not
hesitate one moment in running back over the stile again, and demanding
of Jacob Rigg that he should tell me whether he meant any thing or
nothing; for I was not to be played with about important matters, like
the boys in the church who were cracking nuts.

"Lord! Lord, now!" he said, with his treddled heel scraping the shoulder
of his shining spade; "the longer I live in this world, the fitter I
grow to get into the ways of the Lord. His ways are past finding out,
saith King David: but a man of war, from his youth upward, hath no
chance such as a gardening man hath. What a many of them have I found
out!"

"What has that got to do with it!" I cried. "Just tell me what it was
you were speaking of just now."

"I was just a-thinking, when I looked at you, miss," he answered, in the
prime of leisure, and wiping his forehead from habit only, not because
he wanted it, "how little us knows of the times and seasons and the
generations of the sons of men. There you stand, miss, and here stand I,
as haven't seen your father for a score of years a'most; and yet there
comes out of your eyes into mine the very same look as the Captain used
to send, when snakes in the grass had been telling lies about me coming
late, or having my half pint or so on. Not that the Captain was a hard
man, miss--far otherwise, and capable of allowance, more than any of the
women be. But only the Lord, who doeth all things aright, could 'a made
you come, with a score of years atween, and the twinkle in your eyes
like--Selah!"

"You know what you mean, perhaps, but I do not," I answered, quite
gently, being troubled by his words and the fear of having tried to
hurry him; "but you should not say what you have said, Jacob Rigg, to
me, your master's daughter, if you only meant to be joking. Is this the
place to joke with me?"

I pointed to all that lay around me, where I could not plant a foot
without stepping over my brothers or sisters; and the old man, callous
as he might be, could not help feeling for--a pinch of snuff. This
he found in the right-hand pocket of his waistcoat, and took it very
carefully, and made a little noise of comfort; and thus, being fully
self-assured again, he stood, with his feet far apart and his head on
one side, regarding me warily. And I took good care not to say another
word.

"You be young," he said at last; "and in these latter days no wisdom is
ordained in the mouths of babes and sucklings, nor always in the mouths
of them as is themselves ordained. But you have a way of keeping your
chin up, miss, as if you was gifted with a stiff tongue likewise. And
whatever may hap, I has as good mind to tell 'e."

"That you are absolutely bound to do," I answered, as forcibly as I
could. "Duty to your former master and to me, his only child--and to
yourself, and your Maker too--compel you, Jacob Rigg, to tell me every
thing you know."

"Then, miss," he answered, coming nearer to me, and speaking in a low,
hoarse voice, "as sure as I stand here in God's churchyard, by all this
murdered family, I knows the man who done it!"

He looked at me, with a trembling finger upon his hard-set lips, and the
spade in his other hand quivered like a wind vane; but I became as firm
as the monument beside me, and my heart, instead of fluttering, grew as
steadfast as a glacier. Then, for the first time, I knew that God had
not kept me living, when all the others died, without fitting me also
for the work there was to do.

"Come here to the corner of the tower, miss," old Jacob went on, in his
excitement catching hold of the sleeve of my black silk jacket. "Where
we stand is a queer sort of echo, which goeth in and out of them big
tombstones. And for aught I can say to contrairy, he may be a-watching
of us while here we stand."

I glanced around, as if he were most welcome to be watching me, if only
I could see him once. But the place was as silent as its graves; and
I followed the sexton to the shadow of a buttress. Here he went into
a deep gray corner, lichened and mossed by a drip from the roof; and
being, both in his clothes and self, pretty much of that same color,
he was not very easy to discern from stone when the light of day was
declining.

"This is where I catches all the boys," he whispered; "and this is where
I caught him, one evening when I were tired, and gone to nurse my knees
a bit. Let me see--why, let me see! Don't you speak till I do, miss.
Were it the last but one I dug? Or could un 'a been the last but two?
Never mind; I can't call to mind quite justly. We puts down about one a
month in this parish, without any distemper or haxident. Well, it must
'a been the one afore last--to be sure, no call to scratch my head
about un. Old Sally Mock, as sure as I stand here--done handsome by
the rate-payers. Over there, miss, if you please to look--about two
land-yard and a half away. Can you see un with the grass peeking up
a'ready?"

"Never mind that, Jacob. Do please to go on."

"So I be, miss. So I be doing to the best of the power granted me. Well,
I were in this little knuckle of a squat, where old Sally used to say
as I went to sleep, and charged the parish for it--a spiteful old ooman,
and I done her grave with pleasure, only wishing her had to pay for
it; and to prove to her mind that I never goed asleep here, I was just
making ready to set fire to my pipe, having cocked my shovel in to ease
my legs, like this, when from round you corner of the chancel-foot, and
over again that there old tree, I seed a something movin' along--movin'
along, without any noise or declarance of solid feet walking. You may
see the track burnt in the sod, if you let your eyes go along this here
finger."

"Oh, Jacob, how could you have waited to see it?"

"I did, miss, I did; being used to a-many antics in this dead-yard, such
as a man who hadn't buried them might up foot to run away from. But they
no right, after the service of the Church, to come up for more than one
change of the moon, unless they been great malefactors. And then they be
ashamed of it; and I reminds them of it. 'Amen,' I say, in the very same
voice as I used at the tail of their funerals; and then they knows well
that I covered them up, and the most uneasy goes back again. Lor' bless
you, miss, I no fear of the dead. At both ends of life us be harmless.
It is in the life, and mostways in the middle of it, we makes all the
death for one another."

This was true enough; and I only nodded to him, fearing to interject any
new ideas from which he might go rambling.

"Well, that there figure were no joke, mind you," the old man continued,
as soon as he had freshened his narrative powers with another pinch of
snuff, "being tall and grim, and white in the face, and very onpleasant
for to look at, and its eyes seemed a'most to burn holes in the air. No
sooner did I see that it were not a ghostie, but a living man the
same as I be, than my knees begins to shake and my stumps of teeth to
chatter. And what do you think it was stopped me, miss, from slipping
round this corner, and away by belfry? Nort but the hoddest idea you
ever heared on. For all of a suddint it was borne unto my mind that the
Lord had been pleased to send us back the Captain; not so handsome as
he used to be, but in the living flesh, however, in spite of they
newspapers. And I were just at the pint of coming forrard, out of this
here dark cornder, knowing as I had done my duty by them graves that his
honor, to my mind, must 'a come looking after, when, lucky for me, I
see summat in his walk, and then in his countenance, and then in all
his features, unnateral on the Captain's part, whatever his time of life
might be. And sure enough, miss, it were no Captain more nor I myself
be."

"Of course not. How could it be? But who was it, Jacob?"

"You bide a bit, miss, and you shall hear the whole. Well, by that time
'twas too late for me to slip away, and I was bound to scrooge up into
the elbow of this nick here, and try not to breathe, as nigh as might
be, and keep my Lammas cough down; for I never see a face more full
of malice and uncharity. However, he come on as straight as a arrow,
holding his long chin out, like this, as if he gotten crutches under
it, as the folk does with bad water. A tall man, as tall as the Captain
a'most, but not gifted with any kind aspect. He trampsed over the
general graves, like the devil come to fetch their souls out; but when
he come here to the 'holy ring,' he stopped short, and stood with his
back to me. I could hear him count the seven graves, as pat as the
shells of oysters to pay for, and then he said all their names, as true,
from the biggest to the leastest one, as Betsy Bowen could 'a done it,
though none of 'em got no mark to 'em. Oh, the poor little hearts, it
was cruel hard upon them! And then my lady in the middle, making
seven. So far as I could catch over his shoulder, he seemed to be quite
a-talking with her--not as you and I be, miss, but a sort of a manner of
a way, like."

"And what did he seem to say? Oh, Jacob, how long you do take over it!"

"Well, he did not, miss; that you may say for sartain. And glad I was
to have him quick about it; for he might have redooced me to such a
condition--ay, and I believe a' would, too, if onst a' had caught
sight of me--as the parish might 'a had to fight over the appintment of
another sexton. And so at last a' went away. And I were that stiff with
scrooging in this cornder--"

"Is that all? Oh, that comes to nothing. Surely you must have more to
tell me? It may have been some one who knew our names. It may have been
some old friend of the family."

"No, miss, no! No familiar friend; or if he was, he were like King
David's. He bore a tyrannous hate against 'e, and the poison of asps
were under his lips. In this here hattitude he stood, with his back
toward me, and his reins more upright than I be capable of putting it.
And this was how he held up his elbow and his head. Look 'e see, miss,
and then 'e know as much as I do."

Mr. Rigg marched with a long smooth step--a most difficult strain for
his short bowed legs--as far as the place he had been pointing out; and
there he stood with his back to me, painfully doing what the tall man
had done, so far as the difference of size allowed.

It was not possible for me to laugh in a matter of such sadness; and yet
Jacob stood, with his back to me, spreading and stretching himself in
such a way, to be up to the dimensions of the stranger, that--low as it
was--I was compelled to cough, for fear of fatally offending him.

"That warn't quite right, miss. Now you look again," he exclaimed, with
a little readjustment. "Only he had a thing over one shoulder, the like
of what the Scotchmen wear; and his features was beyond me, because of
the back of his head, like. For God's sake keep out of his way, miss."

The sexton stood in a musing and yet a stern and defiant attitude, with
the right elbow clasped in the left-hand palm, the right hand resting
half-clinched upon the forehead, and the shoulders thrown back, as if
ready for a blow.

"What a very odd way to stand!" I said.

"Yes, miss. And what he said was odder. 'Six, and the mother!' I heared
un say; 'no cure for it, till I have all seven.' But stop, miss. Not a
breath to any one! Here comes the poor father and mother to speak the
blessing across their daughter's grave--and the grave not two foot down
yet!"



CHAPTER XXXVI

A SIMPLE QUESTION


Now this account of what Jacob Rigg had seen and heard threw me into a
state of mind extremely unsatisfactory. To be in eager search of some
unknown person who had injured me inexpressibly, without any longing for
revenge on my part, but simply with a view to justice--this was a very
different thing from feeling that an unknown person was in quest of
me, with the horrible purpose of destroying me to insure his own wicked
safety.

At first I almost thought that he was welcome to do this; that such a
life as mine (if looked at from an outer point of view) was better to be
died than lived out. Also that there was nobody left to get any good out
of all that I could do; and even if I ever should succeed, truth would
come out of her tomb too late. And this began to make me cry, which I
had long given over doing, with no one to feel for the heart of it.

But a thing of this kind could not long endure; and as soon as the sun
of the morrow arose (or at least as soon as I was fit to see him), my
view of the world was quite different. Here was the merry brook, playing
with the morning, spread around with ample depth and rich retreat of
meadows, and often, after maze of leisure, hastening with a tinkle into
shadowy delight of trees. Here, as well, were happy lanes, and footpaths
of a soft content, unworn with any pressure of the price of time or
business. None of them knew (in spite, at flurried spots, of their own
direction posts) whence they were coming or whither going--only that
here they lay, between the fields or through them, like idle veins
of earth, with sometimes company of a man or boy, whistling to his
footfall, or a singing maid with a milking pail. And how ungrateful it
would be to forget the pleasant copses, in waves of deep green leafage
flowing down and up the channeled hills, waving at the wind to tints and
tones of new refreshment, and tempting idle folk to come and hear the
hush, and see the twinkled texture of pellucid gloom.

Much, however, as I loved to sit in places of this kind alone, for some
little time I feared to do so, after hearing the sexton's tale; for
Jacob's terror was so unfeigned (though his own life had not been
threatened) that, knowing as I did from Betsy's account, as well as his
own appearance, that he was not at all a nervous man, I could not help
sharing his vague alarm. It seemed so terrible that any one should come
to the graves of my sweet mother and her six harmless children, and,
instead of showing pity, as even a monster might have tried to do,
should stand, if not with threatening gestures, yet with a most hostile
mien, and thirst for the life of the only survivor--my poor self.

But terrible or not, the truth was so; and neither Betsy nor myself
could shake Mr. Rigg's conclusion. Indeed, he became more and more
emphatic, in reply to our doubts and mild suggestions, perhaps that his
eyes had deceived him, or perhaps that, taking a nap in the corner of
the buttress, he had dreamed at least a part of it. And Betsy, on the
score of ancient friendship and kind remembrance of his likings, put
it to him in a gentle way whether his knowledge of what Sally Mock had
been, and the calumnies she might have spoken of his beer (when herself,
in the work-house, deprived of it), might not have induced him to take
a little more than usual in going down so deep for her. But he answered,
"No; it was nothing of the sort. Deep he had gone, to the tiptoe of his
fling; not from any feeling of a wish to keep her down, but just because
the parish paid, and the parish would have measurement. And when that
was on, he never brought down more than the quart tin from the public;
and never had none down afterward. Otherwise the ground was so ticklish,
that a man, working too free, might stay down there. No, no! That
idea was like one of Sally's own. He just had his quart of Persfield
ale--short measure, of course, with a woman at the bar--and if that were
enough to make a man dream dreams, the sooner he dug his own grave, the
better for all connected with him."

We saw that we had gone too far in thinking of such a possibility; and
if Mr. Rigg had not been large-minded, as well as notoriously sober,
Betsy might have lost me all the benefit of his evidence by her
London-bred clumsiness with him. For it takes quite a different
handling, and a different mode of outset, to get on with the London
working class and the laboring kind of the country; or at least it
seemed to me so.

Now my knowledge of Jacob Rigg was owing, as might be supposed, to Betsy
Strouss, who had taken the lead of me in almost every thing ever since
I brought her down from London. And now I was glad that, in one point
at least, her judgment had overruled mine--to wit, that my name and
parentage were as yet not generally known in the village. Indeed, only
Betsy herself and Jacob and a faithful old washer-woman, with no roof to
her mouth, were aware of me as Miss Castlewood. Not that I had taken any
other name--to that I would not stoop--but because the public, of its
own accord, paying attention to Betsy's style of addressing me, followed
her lead (with some little improvement), and was pleased to entitle me
"Miss Raumur."

Some question had been raised as to spelling me aright, till a man of
advanced intelligence proved to many eyes, and even several pairs of
spectacles (assembled in front of the blacksmith's shop), that no other
way could be right except that. For there it was in print, as any one
able might see, on the side of an instrument whose name and qualities
were even more mysterious than those in debate. Therefore I became "Miss
Raumur;" and a protest would have gone for nothing unless printed also.
But it did not behoove me to go to that expense, while it suited me very
well to be considered and pitied as a harmless foreigner--a being who
on English land may find some cause to doubt whether, even in his own
country, a prophet could be less thought of. And this large pity for me,
as an outlandish person, in the very spot where I was born, endowed me
with tenfold the privilege of the proudest native. For the natives of
this valley are declared to be of a different stock from those around
them, not of the common Wessex strain, but of Jutish or Danish
origin. How that may be I do not know; at any rate, they think well of
themselves, and no doubt they have cause to do so.

Moreover, they all were very kind to me, and their primitive ways amused
me, as soon as they had settled that I was a foreigner, equally beyond
and below inquiry. They told me that I was kindly welcome to stay there
as long as it pleased me; and knowing how fond I was of making pictures,
after beholding my drawing-book, every farmer among them gave me leave
to come into his fields, though he never had heard there was any thing
there worth painting.

When once there has been a deposit of idea in the calm deep eocene of
British rural mind, the impression will outlast any shallow deluge of
the noblest education. Shoxford had settled two points forever, without
troubling reason to come out of her way--first, that I was a foreign
young lady of good birth, manners, and money; second, and far more
important, I was here to write and paint a book about Shoxford. Not
for the money, of that I had no need (according to the congress at the
"Silver-edged Holly"), but for the praise and the knowledge of it,
like, and to make a talk among high people. But the elders shook their
heads--as I heard from Mr. Rigg, who hugged his knowledge proudly, and
uttered dim sayings of wisdom let forth at large usury: he did not mind
telling me that the old men shook their heads, for fear of my being a
deal too young, and a long sight too well favored (as any man might tell
without his specs on), for to write any book upon any subject yet, leave
alone an old, ancient town like theirs. However, there might be no harm
in my trying, and perhaps the school-master would cross out the bad
language.

Thus for once fortune now was giving me good help, enabling me to go
about freely, and preventing (so far as I could see, at least) all
danger of discovery by my unknown foe. So here I resolved to keep my
head-quarters, dispensing, if it must be so, with Betsy's presence,
and not even having Mrs. Price to succeed her, unless my cousin should
insist upon it. And partly to dissuade him from that, and partly to
hear his opinion of the sexton's tale, I paid a flying visit to Lord
Castlewood; while "Madam Straw," as Betsy now was called throughout the
village, remained behind at Shoxford. For I long had desired to know a
thing which I had not ventured to ask my cousin--though I did ask Mr.
Shovelin--whether my father had intrusted him with the key of his own
mysterious acts. I scarcely knew whether it was proper even now to put
this question to Lord Castlewood; but even without doing so, I might get
at the answer by watching him closely while I told my tale. Not a letter
had reached me since I came to Shoxford, neither had I written any,
except one to Uncle Sam; and keeping to this excellent rule, I arrived
at Castlewood without notice.

In doing this I took no liberty, because full permission had been given
me about it; and indeed I had been expected there, as Stixon told me,
some days before. He added that his master was about as usual, but had
shown some uneasiness on my account, though the butler was all in the
dark about it, and felt it very hard after all these years, "particular,
when he could hardly help thinking that Mrs. Price--a new hand compared
to himself, not to speak of being a female--knowed all about it, and
were very aggravating. But there, he would say no more; he knew his
place, and he always had been valued in it, long afore Mrs. Price come
up to the bottom of his waistcoat."

My cousin received me with kindly warmth, and kissed me gently on the
forehead. "My dear, how very well you look!" he said. "Your native air
has agreed with you. I was getting, in my quiet way, rather sedulous
and self-reproachful about you. But you would have your own way, like a
young American; and it seems that you were right."

"It was quite right," I answered, with a hearty kiss, for I never could
be cold-natured; and this was my only one of near kin, so far, at least,
as my knowledge went. "I was quite right in going; and I have done good.
At any rate, I have found out something--something that may not be of
any kind of use; but still it makes me hope things."

With that, in as few words as ever I could use, I told Lord Castlewood
the whole of Jacob's tale, particularly looking at him all the while I
spoke, to settle in my own mind whether the idea of such a thing was new
to him. Concerning that, however, I could make out nothing. My cousin,
at his time of life, and after so much travelling, had much too large a
share of mind and long skill of experience for me to make any thing out
of his face beyond his own intention. And whether he had suspicion or
not of any thing at all like what I was describing, or any body having
to do with it, was more than I ever might have known, if I had not
gathered up my courage and put the question outright to him. I told
him that if I was wrong in asking, he was not to answer; but, right or
wrong, ask him I must.

"The question is natural, and not at all improper," replied Lord
Castlewood, standing a moment for change of pain, which was all his
relief. "Indeed, I expected you to ask me that before. But, Erema, I
have also had to ask myself about it, whether I have any right to answer
you. And I have decided not to do so, unless you will pledge yourself to
one thing."

"I will pledge myself to any thing," I answered, rashly; "I do not care
what it is, if only to get at the bottom of this mystery."

"I scarcely think you will hold good to your words when you hear what
you have to promise. The condition upon which I tell you what I believe
to be the cause of all is, that you let things remain as they are, and
keep silence forever about them."

"Oh, you can not be so cruel, so atrocious!" I cried, in my bitter
disappointment. "What good would it be for me to know things thus, and
let the vile wrong continue? Surely you are not bound to lay on me a
condition so impossible?"

"After much consideration and strong wish to have it otherwise, I have
concluded that I am so bound."

"In duty to my father, or the family, or what? Forgive me for asking,
but it does seem so hard."

"It seems hard, my dear, and it is hard as well," he answered, very
gently, yet showing in his eyes and lips no chance of any yielding. "But
remember that I do not know, I only guess, the secret; and if you give
the pledge I speak of, you merely follow in your father's steps."

"Never," I replied, with as firm a face as his. "It may have been my
father's duty, or no doubt he thought it so; but it can not be mine,
unless I make it so by laying it on my honor. And I will not do that."

"Perhaps you are right; but, at any rate, remember that I have not tried
to persuade you. I wish to do what is for your happiness, Erema. And
I think that, on the whole, with your vigor and high spirit, you are
better as you are than if you had a knowledge which you could only brood
over and not use."

"I will find out the whole of it myself," I cried, for I could not
repress all excitement; "and then I need not brood over it, but may have
it out and get justice. In the wildest parts of America justice comes
with perseverance: am I to abjure it in the heart of England? Lord
Castlewood, which is first--justice or honor?"

"My cousin, you are fond of asking questions difficult to answer.
Justice and honor nearly always go together. When they do otherwise,
honor stands foremost, with people of good birth, at least."

"Then I will be a person of very bad birth. If they come into conflict
in my life, as almost every thing seems to do, my first thought shall be
of justice; and honor shall come in as its ornament afterward."

"Erema," said my cousin, "your meaning is good, and at your time of life
you can scarcely be expected to take a dispassionate view of things."

At first I felt almost as if I could hate a "dispassionate view of
things." Things are made to arouse our passion, so long as meanness and
villainy prevail; and if old men, knowing the balance of the world,
can contemplate them all "dispassionately," more clearly than any thing
else, to my mind, that proves the beauty of being young. I am sure that
I never was hot or violent--qualities which I especially dislike--but
still I would rather almost have those than be too philosophical. And
now, while I revered my father's cousin for his gentleness, wisdom, and
long-suffering, I almost longed to fly back to the Major, prejudiced,
peppery, and red-hot for justice, at any rate in all things that
concerned himself.



CHAPTER XXXVII

SOME ANSWER TO IT


Hasty indignation did not drive me to hot action. A quiet talk with
Mrs. Price, as soon as my cousin's bad hour arrived, was quite enough to
bring me back to a sense of my own misgovernment. Moreover, the evening
clouds were darkening for a night of thunder, while the silver Thames
looked nothing more than a leaden pipe down the valleys. Calm words fall
at such times on quick temper like the drip of trees on people who
have been dancing. I shivered, as my spirit fell, to think of my weak
excitement, and poor petulance to a kind, wise friend, a man of many
sorrows and perpetual affliction. And then I recalled what I had
observed, but in my haste forgotten--Lord Castlewood was greatly changed
even in the short time since I had left his house for Shoxford. Pale he
had always been, and his features (calm as they were, and finely cut)
seemed almost bleached by in-door life and continual endurance. But
now they showed worse sign than this--a delicate transparence of faint
color, and a waxen surface, such as I had seen at a time I can not bear
to think of. Also he had tottered forward, while he tried for steadfast
footing, quite as if his worried members were almost worn out at last.

Mrs. Price took me up quite sharply--at least for one of her
well-trained style--when I ventured to ask if she had noticed this,
which made me feel uneasy. "Oh dear, no!" she said, looking up from
the lace-frilled pockets of her silk apron, which appeared to my mind
perhaps a little too smart, and almost of a vulgar tincture; and I think
that she saw in my eyes that much, and was vexed with herself for not
changing it--"oh dear, no, Miss Castlewood! We who know and watch
him should detect any difference of that nature at the moment of its
occurrence. His lordship's health goes vacillating; a little up now,
and then a little down, like a needle that is mounted to show the dip
of compass; and it varies according to the electricity, as well as the
magnetic influence."

"What doctor told you that?" I asked, seeing in a moment that this
housekeeper was dealing in quotation.

"You are very"--she was going to say "rude," but knew better when she
saw me waiting for it--"well, you are rather brusque, as we used to call
it abroad, Miss Castlewood; but am I incapable of observing for myself?"

"I never implied that," was my answer. "I believe that you are most
intelligent, and fit to nurse my cousin, as you are to keep his
house. And what you have said shows the clearness of your memory and
expression."

"You are very good to speak so," she answered, recovering her temper
beautifully, but, like a true woman, resolved not to let me know any
thing more about it. "Oh, what a clap of thunder! Are you timid? This
house has been struck three times, they say. It stands so prominently.
It is this that has made my lord look so."

"Let us hope, then to see him much better to-morrow," I said, very
bravely, though frightened at heart, being always a coward of thunder.
"What are these storms you get in England compared to the tropical
outbursts? Let us open the window, if you please, and watch it."

"I hear myself called," Mrs. Price exclaimed. "I am sorry to leave you,
miss. You know best. But please not to sit by an open window; nothing is
more dangerous."

"Except a great bunch of steel keys," I replied; and gazing at her nice
retreating figure, saw it quickened, as a flash of lightning passed,
with the effort of both hands to be quit of something.

The storm was dreadful; and I kept the window shut, but could not help
watching, with a fearful joy, the many-fingered hazy pale vibrations,
the reflections of the levin in the hollow of the land. And sadly I
began to think of Uncle Sam and all his goodness; and how in a storm,
a thousandfold of this, he went down his valley in the torrent of the
waves, and must have been drowned, and perhaps never found again, if he
had not been wearing his leathern apron.

This made me humble, as all great thoughts do, and the sidelong drizzle
in among the heavy rain (from the big drops jostling each other in the
air, and dashing out splashes of difference) gave me an idea of the sort
of thing I was--and how very little more. And feeling rather lonely in
the turn that things had taken, I rang the bell for somebody; and up
came Stixon.

"Lor', miss! Lor', what a burning shame of Prick!--'Prick' we call her,
in our genial moments, hearing as the 'k' is hard in Celtic language;
and all abroad about her husband. My very first saying to you was, not
to be too much okkipied with her. Look at the pinafore on her! Lord be
with me! If his lordship, as caught me, that day of this very same month
fifty years, in the gooseberry bush--"

"To be sure!" I said, knowing that story by heart, together with all its
embellishments; "but things are altered since that day. Nothing can be
more to your credit, I am sure, than to be able to tell such a tale in
the very place where it happened."

"But, Miss--Miss Erma, I ain't begun to tell it."

"Because you remember that I am acquainted with it. A thing so
remarkable is not to be forgotten. Now let me ask you a question of
importance; and I beg you, as an old servant of this family, to
answer it carefully and truly. Do you remember any one, either here or
elsewhere, so like my father, Captain Castlewood, as to be taken for
him at first sight, until a difference of expression and of walk was
noticed?"

Mr. Stixon looked at me with some surprise, and then began to think
profoundly, and in doing so he supported his chin with one hand.

"Let me see--like the Captain?" He reflected slowly: "Did I ever see a
gentleman like poor Master George, as was? A gentleman, of course, it
must have been--and a very tall, handsome, straight gentleman, to be
taken anyhow for young Master George. And he must have been very like
him, too, to be taken for him by resemblance. Well then, miss, to the
best of my judgment, I never did see such a gentleman."

"I don't know whether it was a gentleman or not," I answered, with
some impatience at his tantalizing slowness; "but he carried his chin
stretched forth--like this."

For Stixon's own attitude had reminded me of a little point in Jacob
Rigg's description, which otherwise might have escaped me.

"Lor', now, and he carried his chin like that!" resumed the butler, with
an increase of intelligence by no means superfluous. "Why, let me see,
now, let me see. Something do come across my mind when you puts out your
purty chin, miss; but there, it must have been a score of years agone,
or more--perhaps five-and-twenty. What a daft old codger I be getting,
surely! No wonder them new lights puts a bushel over me."

"No," I replied; "you are simply showing great power of memory, Stixon.
And now please to tell me, as soon as you can, who it was--a tall man,
remember, and a handsome one, with dark hair, perhaps, or at any rate
dark eyes--who resembled (perhaps not very closely, but still enough to
mislead at a distance) my dear father--Master George, as you call him,
for whose sake you are bound to tell me every thing you know. Now try to
think--do please try your very best, for my sake."

"That I will, miss; that I will, with all my heart, with all my mind,
with all my soul, and with all my strength, as I used to have to say
with my hands behind my back, afore education were invented. Only please
you to stand with your chin put out, miss, and your profield towards me.
That is what brings it up, and nothing else at all, miss. Only, not to
say a word of any sort to hurry me. A tracherous and a deep thing is the
memory and the remembrance."

Mr. Stixon's memory was so deep that there seemed to be no bottom to it,
or, at any rate, what lay there took a very long time to get at. And I
waited, with more impatience than hope, the utterance of his researches.

"I got it now; I got it all, miss, clear as any pictur'!" the old man
cried out, at the very moment when I was about to say, "Please to leave
off; I am sure it is too much for you." "Not a pictur' in all of our
gallery, miss, two-and-fifty of 'em, so clear as I see that there man,
dark as it was, and a heavy wind a-blowing. What you call them things,
miss, if you please, as comes with the sun, like a face upon the water?
Wicked things done again the will of the Lord, and He makes them fade
out afterwards."

"Perhaps you mean photographs. Is that the word?"

"The very word, and no mistake. A sinful trespass on the works of God,
to tickle the vanity of gals. But he never spread himself abroad like
them. They shows all their ear-rings, and their necks, and smiles. But
he never would have shown his nose, if he could help it, that stormy
night when I come to do my duty. He come into this house without so much
as a 'by your leave' to nobody, and vexed me terrible accordingly. It
was in the old lord's time, you know, miss, a one of the true sort, as
would have things respectful, and knock down any man as soon as look.
And it put me quite upon the touch-and-go, being responsible for all
the footman's works, and a young boy promoted in the face of my opinion,
having my own son worth a dozen of him. This made me look at the nature
of things, miss, and find it on my conscience to be after every body."

"Yes, Stixon, yes! Now do go on. You must always have been, not only
after, but a very long way after, every body."

"Miss Erma, if you throw me out, every word goes promiscuous. In a
heffort of the mind like this it is every word, or no word. Now, did
I see him come along the big passage?--a 'currydoor' they call it now,
though no more curry in it than there is door. No, I never seed him come
along the passage, and that made it more reproachful. He come out of
a green-baize door--the very place I can point out to you, and the
selfsame door, miss, though false to the accuracy of the mind that knows
it, by reason of having been covered up red, and all the brass buttons
lost to it in them new-fangled upholsteries. Not that I see him come
through, if you please, but the sway of the door, being double-jointed,
was enough to show legs, had been there. And knowing that my lord's
private room was there, made me put out my legs quite wonderful."

"Oh, do please to put out your words half as quickly."

"No, miss, no. I were lissome in those days, though not so very stiff
at this time of speaking, and bound to be guarded in the guidance of the
tongue. And now, miss, I think if you please to hear the rest to-morrow,
I could tell it better."

A more outrageous idea than this was never presented to me. Even if I
could have tried to wait, this dreadful old man might have made up his
mind not to open his lips in the morning, or, if he would speak, there
might be nothing left to say. His memory was nursed up now, and my only
chance was to keep it so. Therefore I begged him to please to go on, and
no more would I interrupt him. And I longed to be ten years older, so as
not to speak when needless.

"So then, Miss Erma, if I must go on," resumed the well-coaxed Stixon,
"if my duty to the family driveth me to an 'arrowing subjeck, no words
can more justly tell what come to pass than my language to my wife. She
were alive then, the poor dear hangel, and the mother of seven children,
which made me, by your leave comparing humble roofs with grandeur, a
little stiff to him up stairs, as come in on the top of seven. For I
said to my wife when I went home--sleeping out of the house, you see,
miss, till the Lord was pleased to dissolve matrimony--'Polly,' I
said, when I took home my supper, 'you may take my word for it there is
something queer.' Not another word did I mean to tell her, as behooved
my dooty. Howsoever, no peace was my lot till I made a clean bosom of
it, only putting her first on the Testament, and even that not safe with
most of them. And from that night not a soul has heard a word till it
comes to you, miss. He come striding along, with his face muffled up,
for all the world like a bugglar, and no more heed did he pay to me than
if I was one of the pedestals. But I were in front of him at the door,
and to slip out so was against all orders. So in front of him I stands,
with my hand upon the handles, and meaning to have a word with him, to
know who he was, and such like, and how he comes there, and what he had
been seeking, with the spoons and the forks and the gravies on my mind.
And right I would have been in a court of law (if the lawyers was put
out of it) for my hefforts in that situation. And then, what do you
think he done, miss? So far from entering into any conversation with me,
or hitting at me, like a man--which would have done good to think of--he
send out one hand to the bottom of my vest--as they call it now in all
the best livery tailors--and afore I could reason on it, there I was
a-lying on a star in six colors of marble. When I come to think on it,
it was but a push directed to a part of my system, and not a hit
under the belt, the like of which no Briton would think of delivering.
Nevertheless, there was no differ in what came to me, miss, and my
spirit was roused, as if I had been hit foul by one of the prizemen.
No time to get up, but I let out one foot at his long legs as a' was
slipping through the door, and so nearly did I fetch him over that he
let go his muffle to balance himself with the jamb, and same moment a
strong rush of wind laid bare the whole of his wicked face to me. For a
bad wicked face it was, as ever I did see; whether by reason of the kick
I gave, and a splinter in the shin, or by habit of the mind, a proud and
'aughty and owdacious face, and, as I said to my poor wife, reminded me
a little of our Master George; not in his ordinary aspect, to be sure,
but as Master George might look if he was going to the devil. Pray
excoose me, miss, for bad words, but no good ones will do justice.
And so off he goes, after one look at me on the ground, not worth
considering, with his chin stuck up, as if the air was not good enough
to be breathed perpendiklar